{"id":2899,"date":"2013-05-17T16:18:06","date_gmt":"2013-05-17T20:18:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=2899"},"modified":"2025-02-18T19:17:38","modified_gmt":"2025-02-19T00:17:38","slug":"oh-brother-where-art-thou-or-the-art-of-love-and-war","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=2899","title":{"rendered":"Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? or The Art of Love and War (by faust)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Summary: <\/span>Adam embarks on an adventure his family had not expected him to — although maybe they should have. And now they all have to watch helplessly as their once peaceful world shatters around them. Part of the series, but can definitely read as a stand-alone.<\/p>\n

74,600 words, rated T<\/p>\n

Written for the Chaps and Spurs Mega Challenge. Now complete.<\/p>\n

My Story Index and reading order for the Art-Universe<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?
\nor
\nThe Art of Love and War<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

Chapter 1<\/strong><\/p>\n

Mirror, Mirror…<\/strong><\/p>\n

The sinking sun of the late spring day sent its last streaks of amber light into the hotel room where they performed a vivacious dance in the mass of elaborately pinned-up dark golden curls.<\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s glance followed one stray lock to her long slender neck and went further, over her creamy shoulders and the luxuriously embroidered emerald silk of her sumptuous ball gown, lingered a moment on her slim waist, then trailed down the voluminous folds of the full skirt.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs everything all right?\u201d How someone in a wardrobe as majestic as the one she wore could sound so insecure, he\u2019d never understand.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not too tight, is it?\u201d She looked at him over her shoulder and then back into the large standing mirror, picking at her dress where the fabric clung smoothly to her shapely form.<\/p>\n

Adam approached her, close enough to be able to wrap his arm around her waist and bend his head down and kiss the point where her neck melted into her shoulder. \u201cNothing is too tight. Everything is just as it is supposed to. This dress is beautiful. You<\/em> are beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought I might have gained some weight after Henry*….\u201d<\/p>\n

He tweaked her waist. \u201cWhere? Here?\u201d He tweaked again, then planted another kiss on her shoulder and whispered into her ear, \u201cI don\u2019t know if you put on some weight or not; it doesn\u2019t feel different from last August for sure, but that doesn\u2019t matter anyway: you are perfect the way you are.\u201d<\/p>\n

She leaned into him, but still looking into the mirror. \u201cYou\u2019re just saying that to humour me. I know I\u2019m not a match for\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

He silenced her with a finger on her lips. \u201cShh.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked down, but his finger made the short trip from her lips to her chin and lifted her face.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook,\u201d he said and pointed to their reflection. \u201cWhat do you see?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI see the most beautiful dress I ever had. I suppose that should be enough for this ball.\u201d She sighed, and made to turn, but he held her back.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd do you know what I<\/em> see?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n

A smile jumped into her face, her eyes widened, just a fraction, but enough to let him see the sparkle, the delighted anticipation.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me,\u201d she breathed.<\/p>\n

\u201cI see you<\/em>, Juliet. You and me together. And that\u2019s the most beautiful thing I can imagine.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her smile made a quick transition from delighted to coy to mischievous. \u201cMaybe the display would be prettier with…let\u2019s say Miss Crabtree.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNever,\u201d he said and then tweaked her waist again. \u201cAnd stop fishing, Mylady.\u201d<\/p>\n

She tried to look dignified when she said, \u201cI have no idea what you are talking about,\u201d but for once in her life she failed at that. Instead, she snatched at his wandering hand before it reached her neck line and sniggered, \u201cSo…beauty is in the eye of the beholder, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMhmm, it most certainly is.\u201d He wriggled his hand free and nestled at her cleavage. \u201cAnd you know, Mylady, this particular beholder would love to see more of thy beauty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam!\u201d<\/p>\n

He would nearly have bought the noble indignation her tone indicated, but the way she pressed herself into his hand betrayed her.<\/p>\n

His right hand still trying to pull down the fabric at her front, Adam started to fumble at the hooks and eyes at the back of her dress with his left.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam…\u201d She grabbed for his hands, struggling half-heartedly for domination. \u201cIt took Millie twenty minutes to dress me.\u201d<\/p>\n

He managed to catch her hands and to hold both of them in one of his while his other continued its naughty assignment. \u201cShall we see how fast I can undress you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll be late….\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I most certainly hope so.\u201d He let her hands go and turned her around. \u201cThis room has a rather imposing bed, Mylady, and I have every intention of using it to our utmost satisfaction.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes were nearly black, her lips slightly open, her breathing heavy. She held his gaze, her hand darted out and she hooked a finger into his waistband, tugging lightly. Her mouth curled into a lopsided smirk, and her right eyebrow rose.<\/p>\n

\u201cShuck them already,\u201d she grinned.<\/p>\n

They never made it to that ball.<\/p>\n

__________<\/p>\n

And now here is my secret, a very simple secret;
\nit is only with the heart that one can see rightly,
\nwhat is essential is invisible to the eye.
\n~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery<\/em><\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

*Henry Cartwright, born in Febuary 1863. To be witnessed here: The Art of Mopping<\/a><\/p>\n

The given words were: August, majestic, noble, dignified,imposing<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Chapter 2<\/strong><\/p>\n

Till Death Do Us Part<\/strong><\/p>\n

When Adam woke up from the sound of the early morning birds in the back garden of the hotel, he still felt satisfied<\/em>. Well rested and content. He stretched out under the thin blanket, feeling the ruffled silk bed cloths, and couldn\u2019t help but grin smugly. Without looking, he reached out to his right, but instead of the soft sleep-warmth of a naked body, his groping hand wandered over a deserted, cool sheet.<\/p>\n

Disappointed, he sat up and inspected the room: he was alone. He raked his hands through his tousled hair, scratched at the side of his neck, groaned heartily, then got out of bed and, snatching from a chair his robe and slipping into it, crossed the room to the half-open door connecting both chambers of their suite.<\/p>\n

Peering into what normally would have been the parlour, but had been converted into a nursery, he found what he\u2019d been looking for: in the early morning light flickering through half-drawn curtains, Juliet sat on a comfy chair, nursing Henry. Her dressing gown was open, her nightshirt (when had she slipped into that?) unbuttoned at the top; Henry was lying relaxed in her arms, suckling only lazily, apparently nearly finished with his meal.<\/p>\n

\u201cLucky little fella,\u201d Adam said softly.<\/p>\n

Juliet looked up, only remotely surprised, and smiled. \u201cGood morning.\u201d Her smile widened to a fully grown grin. \u201cAre you jealous?\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam stood behind the chair, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and buried his face in her hair for a moment inhaling her unique scent of honey and perfume, then brushed a soft kiss on her cheek and whispered huskily into her ear, \u201cNope. I had everything I wanted last night, and then some more\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo I assume you found the celebration of our first wedding anniversary\u2026satisfactory?\u201d<\/p>\n

He pushed her gown out of the way and nibbled a trail down her neck, eventually resting his lips on the soft white skin of her shoulder and sucking ever so lightly, humming, \u201cMhmm.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven though we missed the ball and<\/em> you couldn\u2019t have another discussion with Mr. Hohmeyer?\u201d She readjusted her hold on Henry, who had let go of her breast and fallen asleep, and shifted into a more comfortable position. \u201cBut it\u2019s too bad that we couldn\u2019t say goodbye to him on his last night in San Francisco.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam sighed. He planted a kiss on Juliet\u2019s shoulder, squeezed them one last time, and then straightened himself, walked around the chair and stood facing his wife.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll apologise to him later.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet chuckled. \u201cYou can\u2019t. He\u2019ll be off to Virginia by midday already.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam chewed on the inside of his mouth. He sank down to sit on the low table in front of Juliet, rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward. His gaze found hers, and he realised that she wasn\u2019t suspecting anything. Her expression was mildly amused, expecting, completely unaware.<\/p>\n

He took a deep breath. \u201cI\u2019ll do it on the way.\u201d<\/p>\n

She frowned, then blinked. Her mouthed moved soundlessly while her eyes darted around the room, then to her lap, to the baby, to Adam\u2019s face, back to Henry. Then she looked up at Adam, her eyes bright, fear<\/em> written all over her face.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJuliet\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Adam, no.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you don\u2019t! Just because Hohmeyer is going to enlist doesn\u2019t mean you have to do it, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know Hohmeyer is not the reason. He just, well, he has great insights being a friend of General Schurz, and he happened to provide the last spur I needed. \u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh. Is that so?\u201d She raised her chin. \u201cThen, pray tell, what is the reason you want to go and get yourself killed?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t\u2014\u201d He cringed at his tone, paused and calmed himself with slow deliberate breaths. \u201cJuliet, you know why I am going. We\u2019ve talked about it many times.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the Emancipation Proclamation, isn\u2019t it? Ever since Lincoln issued it you\u2019ve been much more inclined to join into that stupid\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis war may be a lot of things, Juliet, but it surely isn\u2019t \u2018stupid.\u2019 But yes, the Emancipation makes it even more urgent that the North wins, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, it does. A clever gambit Lincoln has made with it, that much is sure.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA gambit? It was necessary, and it is what you and I believe in\u2014you\u2019ve been into that topic ever since I\u2019ve met you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet made a \u201cpfft\u201d sound. She rose from her chair, carefully, so not to disturb the sleeping baby, placed Henry in his cradle, then turned around sharply and, pulling at Adam\u2019s arm, she hissed, \u201cLet\u2019s continue this next door.\u201d<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t wait for an answer, just hurried into the other room. Adam could read even in the way she moved how agitated she was. Not that he\u2019d expected this to go smoothly, but for some reasons he\u2019d been prepared for tears or rage or even pleading; certainly not for a political discussion. He snorted. When will you ever learn, Adam? Expect the unexpected with Juliet, isn\u2019t that what you\u2019re always telling your family? <\/em><\/p>\n

He followed her, quietly closed the door between his peacefully sleeping child and his pacing on-the-warpath wife and looked expectantly at Juliet.<\/p>\n

She stood there in the middle of the room, her arms akimbo, her right foot tapping angrily, and then she raised her hand and wagged her finger vigorously into his direction. It would have been extremely funny if Adam hadn\u2019t known what her lost composure told him: she was terrified.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course the Emancipation is what I believe in, and what I support. I\u2019m not objecting to that. But you and I know that Lincoln was inclined to let the South have their way with the slaves just as they were used to if that had provided him with a stable union. But when the North was under such duress and people needed new motivation, he finally proclaimed the Emancipation. You don\u2019t want to call that coincidence, do you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam pinched the bridge of his nose. \u201cNo, I don\u2019t call that coincidence. But I also don\u2019t care. Whatever Lincoln\u2019s motives, it was good to make the proclamation. And, yes, it did motivate me. It does. It\u2019s a cause to fight for, a good thing; the right thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t oppose the cause, you know that.\u201d Juliet\u2019s finger shot out and stabbed into his chest. \u201cI only oppose you fighting in a war.\u201d There was another stab on \u201cyou\u201d and one on \u201cwar.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam took her finger delicately between his thumb and forefinger and removed her hand from his chest. \u201cYou think I should let others fight my wars?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis isn\u2019t your<\/em> war, Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is my country, my convictions, my conscience. Don\u2019t you think that makes it my<\/em> war?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2026\u201d She looked down.<\/p>\n

He was ashamed about his harsh tone, but then sometimes it was the best way to get Juliet\u2019s attention, to make her sharp mind work in more than one direction.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is<\/em> my war,\u201d he added much more softly. \u201cIt is my war, and I have an obligation to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have an obligation towards your family,\u201d she interrupted him. \u201cYou have an obligation towards your child. What about Henry? What about me? Us?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI want Henry to grow up in a land that does not make distinctions between white men and black. I want him to grow up in a land that does not sell one human being to another. A land that defends the equality of all men, as stated in its constitution. And I will do everything in my power to help make this country that place.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd so you decided to have one more splendid night with me, and then leave the next morning, telling me in passing that you\u2019re going to play the hero and save this great land from the evil South.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be melodramatic, Juliet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMelodramatic?\u201d She screamed now. \u201cMelodramatic? And what about your heroically delivered speech? A land that defends the equality of all men, as stated in its constitution<\/em>. Pfft. I will do everything in my power to help make this country that place<\/em>. Oh, come on, Adam, who\u2019s melodramatic now, you or I?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJuliet\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

She pointed to the door. \u201cAnd what about Henry? Isn\u2019t it more important that he grows up with his father at his side than with a memorial for a dead hero somewhere?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou make it sound as if I\u2019m already dead, Juliet.\u201d He managed a chuckle.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf you go you\u2019re as good as dead.\u201d She looked at him, pleadingly. \u201cAdam, don\u2019t do that to us, don\u2019t leave us. Don\u2019t leave me. I couldn\u2019t bear\u2026\u201d She bit her lip.<\/p>\n

He took her hands. \u201cMylady\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t call me that.\u201d She pulled her hands out of his grip. \u201cDon\u2019t call me that when you are hurting me.\u201d<\/p>\n

He sighed. \u201cLook, I don\u2019t want to hurt you, but I have to do what I think is right. Weren\u2019t you the one who told me I\u2019d never do anything I think is wrong? Well, I think staying out of this would be wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

He considered her, reading the dawning understanding on her face. Maybe now is the time to<\/em>\u2026 He retrieved a bundle of sealed letters from a chest of drawers. \u201cI wrote these in case of\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet was at his side in a split second, snatched the papers from his hands and, spitting, \u201cI don\u2019t need your blasted letters, I need you!<\/em>\u201d she threw them into the fire place.<\/p>\n

Or maybe not<\/em>, Adam thought, watching the paper turning black and then dissolving into ashes. \u201cI spent some hours composing those,\u201d he said mildly.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, you planned this all so well. What was in those letters? \u2018I\u2019m sorry you\u2019ll never know me, Henry, but remember I died for a good cause?\u2019 Or did you even round up your beliefs and motives for him so that he can at least read<\/em> who his father had been?\u201d Her hands accompanied her words with overdone dramatic gestures. For a moment it looked as if she\u2019d even start to tear at her hair, but apparently she thought better of it. Or her fire was finally dying down.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t answer her. He knew he wasn\u2019t supposed to. He knew she was raging, knowing she was defeated. But he also knew she wouldn\u2019t give up completely, she just needed time to\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll come with you.\u201d Her tone was defiant, her shoulder square, her arms crossed. \u201cI\u2019ll come with you and\u2026write* about the battles. I\u2019m sure Mr. Lincoln will appreciate a good war correspondent.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd Henry? What about Henry? You can\u2019t take him with you, and surely you wouldn\u2019t leave him alone, would you?\u201d It was ridiculous, and Juliet knew that. Or not? <\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, he can come with us, too. Then we can all die for a good cause; now wouldn\u2019t that be wonderful?\u201d<\/p>\n

He raised an eyebrow.<\/p>\n

Her arms fell, and her head slumped down. She heaved a shuddering breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, I don\u2019t plan<\/em> to lose my life. I\u2019d much prefer to survive,\u201d Adam said gently. He pulled her into his arms and was relieved to find her relaxing into his embrace. \u201cI\u2019ll do everything I can to come home to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

She freed herself and held him at arm length. \u201cIf you go you might lose anyway. It\u2019s either your life or\u2014\u201d She broke off and looked down, then left him standing there, shocked, stunned: she couldn\u2019t make him choose<\/em>, could she?<\/p>\n

Juliet crossed the room and sat down on the bed, slowly fastening the buttons on her nightshirt. When she had completed that task, she folded her hands in her lap for a moment before she went up again, opened the drawer of the nightstand and took something out, then went back to Adam and thrust it into his hand, saying softly, \u201cI want you to take this with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was a small photograph, showing Juliet with Henry in her arms. She must have had it made that day she\u2019d insisted on going out on her own. Henry was wide awake in the photograph, his eyes big and full of wonder, and Juliet looked calm and content and even had the shadow of a smile on her face. My family, my life<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cPromise me you\u2019ll come back,\u201d Juliet whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know I can\u2019t promise that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen promise me you\u2019ll try.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will. I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n

He cupped her face and kissed her: her mouth first, hungry and full of passion, then her forehead, long and savouring.<\/p>\n

They didn\u2019t talk while he washed and dressed himself, even though Juliet watched him all the time and followed him as he went through the room, getting his things together, packing; and she was at his side when he crouched down at Henry\u2019s cradle, tenderly kissed the baby\u2019s forehead and trailed his little face with his finger.<\/p>\n

Then it was time to say goodbye, and they found they were at a loss for words. Everything seemed to have been said already, and Adam knew Leopold Hohmeyer would be waiting impatiently by now; he needed to leave.<\/p>\n

\u201cShall I give your regards to General Schurz?\u201d he finally managed.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe won\u2019t remember me. I was his pupil for only a few weeks\u2014he left London before I learnt much. Really, he is to blame for my poor German.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMylady, I\u2019m sure you were unforgettable. Shall I tell him you said, \u2018Guten Tag, mein Herr? <\/em>\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

She gave him a small smile. \u201cNo, tell him I said, \u2018Schicken Sie mir meinen Mann zur\u00fcck, sofort! <\/em>\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

He chuckled. \u201cNow what makes me think I better not tell him that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCommon sense?\u201d She lifted an eyebrow into that sarcastic arc he knew so well and waited for a few moments, giving him time to ponder possible translations, before she sighed, \u201cActually, it simply means \u2018send my husband back to me.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWasn\u2019t there more? I thought I heard a \u2018right now\u2019 wedged in that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t think you would notice.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s no way I wouldn\u2019t notice one of your \u2018now\u2019s\u2019\u2014whatever the language.\u201d<\/p>\n

They didn\u2019t laugh, but they smiled. And then Adam took her face in his hands, one last time, stroked her cheeks with his thumbs and kissed her. Kissed her, not in that hungry way as before; it was a soft kiss, a kiss not of passion but of love and devotion. A kiss that made words unnecessary, especially those three words they didn\u2019t say too often anyway, because they felt they didn\u2019t need to.<\/p>\n

Only one word was left to say, and he breathed it into her ear. \u201cForever,\u201d and she whispered it back, \u201cForever.\u201d<\/p>\n

On his way to the meeting point with Leopold Hohmeyer, Adam was surprised to find himself praying. It was amazing, he thought, how worry converted a doubter into a believer\u2014even though, admittedly, he saw himself more as a hoper. And even though the cynical part of his brain suspected that God might not listen too closely to such an occasional Christian, he couldn\u2019t help but chant his prayer over and over again, long after he\u2019d left San Francisco and was well on his way to Virginia: \u201cDon\u2019t let us fall apart.\u201d<\/p>\n

In the hotel room Adam had abandoned, Juliet stood frozen to the place, staring at the door that had closed behind her departing husband. She stood there until she heard a clock striking somewhere, and then she turned her back to the door, took a deep breath and swiftly finished her morning toilette and got dressed as if nothing had ever happened.<\/p>\n

She rang for the chamber maid and gave orders to issue her invoice and reserve a seat on the morning stage coach to Virginia City for the next day, then packed the bags. Eventually she had retransformed the two rooms from her and Adam\u2019s home away from home into an impersonal hotel suite, only her and Henry\u2019s laid out clothes for the next day indicating that they were inhabited at all.<\/p>\n

Juliet checked the room for forgotten items, fully knowing that she was unlikely to forget anything considering the accurate, methodical way in which she had tidied up their things. Her gaze stopped when it fell upon the standing mirror, and she slowly approached it until she stood in front of it. Just like yesterday evening<\/em>. Had it really been only yesterday?<\/p>\n

You are beautiful<\/em>, she heard Adam\u2019s voice saying in her head.<\/p>\n

She looked at her reflection: a pale woman, with too-bright eyes and inexpertly pinned hair, in a plain brown dress. A lugubrious woman, less than a shadow of the radiant lover from the night before.<\/p>\n

I see you, Juliet. You and me together. And that\u2019s the most beautiful thing I can imagine. <\/em><\/p>\n

You and me together<\/em>. She was alone now, only her lonesome frame in the mirror. It was the ugliest thing she could imagine.<\/p>\n

And then her eyes finally spilled over. A choked sob forced itself out of her chest, and even though she pressed her lips together to keep it from escaping she could hear the strangled sound. In the mirror, she watched her tears running down her flushed cheeks, and that image was even uglier; but she couldn\u2019t tear herself from her reflection, from that picture of utter despair.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo!\u201d<\/p>\n

She wouldn\u2019t have it. Couldn\u2019t have it, couldn\u2019t bear it, couldn\u2019t\u2026<\/p>\n

She slammed her fists into the mirror; punching, pounding, pummelling, again and again, until the glass broke into a million shards that scattered over the room, over her ugly brown dress, her ugly limp hair, her ugly sad face, leaving dozens of small lacerations in her ugly pale skin.<\/p>\n

There was no pain. But when she looked down in disgust at her ungoverned hands, she saw blood seeping out of numerous cuts and one particularly large gash on her left palm; and she felt sick.<\/p>\n

She heard the blood rush in her ears, felt herself shivering from cold despite the heat, felt the itching of a thousand sweat pearls on her skin, saw darkness clawing its way in from the edges of her blurring vision. The room began to spin around her, which made her nausea even worse; but just when she thought she\u2019d have to throw up she felt she was pulled down into a spiralling black mist and, too weak to put up any resistance, she finally gave in and let her grip on reality go.<\/p>\n

Before the darkness took over completely, she heard the wailing of her son, who must have woken up from the sound of the bursting mirror, his piteous cries damped by the buzzing in her ears, and then\u2014nothing.<\/p>\n

__________<\/p>\n

Walking, working, barely breathing
\nMy thoughts, far away
\nHeart aching, mind racing
\nSleep does not come easily, nor last long….
\n~Peter Winstanley<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

* Juliet is a reporter, or has been one before she and Adam got married: The Art of Horse Selling<\/a><\/p>\n

The words given were: anniversary,celebration, passing, memorial, roundup<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Chapter 3<\/strong><\/h3>\n

The Gist of the Matter<\/h3>\n

Of course, this was all Adam\u2019s fault.<\/p>\n

Joe sighed. He shifted into a more comfortable position on the cot, where he had spent the last forty-five minutes sulking and dabbing a kerchief to his split left palm. It had been a hook Hoss wouldn\u2019t have to be ashamed of and it had knocked Billy-Bob Colston out cold, but Joe\u2019s hand had not only hit Billy-Bob\u2019s unshaven cheek\u2014somehow it must have caught on the miner\u2019s inevitable pipe, too. Now the pipe lay in pieces on the floor of the Bucket of Blood saloon, its owner with a dislocated jaw on Doctor Martin\u2019s couch, and Joe on a prison cot in Sheriff Coffee\u2019s jail.<\/p>\n

It was<\/em> all Adam\u2019s fault. Unfortunately Adam wasn\u2019t here to right his mistake or even to bail Joe out.<\/p>\n

Joe stopped dabbing and sat up. Studying his palm for a moment, he found that, mercifully, the bleeding had stopped already. He wound the bandana around his hand, awkwardly secured it by tying two ends into a knot, and carefully tried to move his thumb. He winced. Holding things, clenching the hand, even shooting would be painful for the next few days, but it was manageable. He wondered how Juliet had coped when\u2014<\/p>\n

Juliet.<\/em><\/p>\n

Maybe Adam wasn\u2019t there to bail him out, but his wife was. Joe winced again. There would be no escaping a lecture, and he was sure Juliet\u2019s words wouldn\u2019t be less forthright than any speech Adam had ever given him; but anything was better than spending the night in a cell, waiting for Pa to come and get him out; and Juliet might be gentler if he told her how it all was Adam\u2019s fault anyway.<\/p>\n

Because it was. Adam\u2019s fault. All of it.<\/p>\n

The tiny voice in the back of his head, that annoying little voice that sounded so much like his older brother and that was in the habit of just popping up whenever Joe\u2019s efforts to block out uncomfortable truths threatened to be successful\u2014that exact darn smart-alecky little voice chose this very moment to snort.<\/p>\n

Joe groaned.<\/p>\n

And then the little Adam in his head said, Whose fault was it? <\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cAdam\u2019s!\u201d Joe was surprised to hear himself shouting.<\/p>\n

You don\u2019t really believe that, do you?<\/em><\/p>\n

Joe decided to ignore the voice. For now. He stood and gave the cot a kick. He did it with much consideration, with not too much and not too little vigour, with excellent aim, and with emphasis but not violence. Much different from the uncontrolled way he had struck out at poor Billy-Bob about an hour ago, as if he\u2019d run out of anger.<\/p>\n

He crossed the cell to peek out of the small barred window, and as if on cue, his sister-in-law came round the corner.<\/p>\n

Hooray!<\/em><\/p>\n

Joe watched Juliet hurrying to the sheriff\u2019s office with her usual long, determined strides. Despite the fact that it was a scorcher of a day, she wore long sleeves and thin white gloves, so as not to encourage the gossip anew\u2014for her arms, wrists, and hands still showed fresh red scars.<\/p>\n

Joe vividly remembered the day she had come home from San Francisco; how she\u2019d emerged from the stage coach clutching little Henry to her chest, but otherwise alone. Her face had been white as the bandages around her wrists and hands, her chin stubbornly raised, her jaw set, and her eyes had carried a horror that had made Joe fear the worst.<\/p>\n

He remembered Pa\u2019s choked question, Juliet\u2019s brusque answer\u2014and then her downcast eyes and low apology. Whether she had apologised for her brusqueness or for the fact that she\u2019d let Adam go, Joe would never know, but he suspected it had been both.<\/p>\n

The gossip had started soon after that. Word had spread of Adam\u2019s enlistment, and of how his wife had tried to slit her wrists. \u201cObloquy\u201d was what Juliet called it with an imperious disdain in her voice that might have fooled others, but not Joe. He didn\u2019t know what she had really done, but he certainly didn\u2019t buy her story about how she\u2019d fainted and fallen into a standing mirror. Her hands and arms showed the most damage, as if they\u2019d taken the brunt of whatever had happened, but when you fainted you wouldn\u2019t fall hands first, would you?<\/p>\n

Pa always said to leave her alone whenever Joe tried to share his concerns, and that all that malicious talk was, as Juliet said, obloquy<\/em>, defaming.<\/p>\n

Slander<\/em>, Joe thought slowly pacing his cell, libel, and defamation<\/em>. He was sure Adam would find even more synonyms*, he\u2019d be mad enough to find about a billion; but Adam was fighting for the greater good now, and so someone else had to list words.<\/p>\n

Joe shook his head. Since his big brother had abandoned his family, someone else<\/em> had to do a lot of the things Adam used to. There was the work on the ranch, sure, but that wasn\u2019t so hard. They were used to stepping in for each other, and there were the ranch hands, too. The ledgers were another question, but Juliet had surprised them by volunteering. Apparently she thought it was \u201cfun\u201d doing ledgers. And then there were the things Adam did because he was Adam<\/em>. Things like being a confidante for Pa. An older brother for Hoss. An annoying yet valued adviser for\u2026everyone. A deliverer of snarky one-liners. Someone who held Juliet in check\u2026<\/p>\n

Joe tried to be all that and more, but he felt that until now he\u2019d only succeeded in finding synonyms. Despite himself, Joe snickered. Who\u2019da thought that?<\/em><\/p>\n

Juliet must have entered the office then, because Joe heard some faint mumbling outside of the cell block. He couldn\u2019t make out words but he distinguished Roy Coffee\u2019s humming baritone and the answering soft alto.<\/p>\n

When Pa had asked him to take his sister-in-law along when he went to town to stock up on supplies at Barnes\u2019 store, Joe hadn\u2019t exactly been enthusiastic. Juliet and he didn\u2019t get along too well even at the best of times, and ever since she\u2019d come home from San Francisco she was downright acrimonious\u2014if she wasn\u2019t miserable. But Pa had said she needed a change of scenery and Henry, who grew quicker than a beanstalk, required new garments anyway, and surely Joe wouldn\u2019t want to be picking out baby-clothes, would he?<\/p>\n

Now Juliet\u2019s presence turned out to be a blessing. She\u2019d pay his bail, and Joe\u2019d be out of prison in no time.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, excuse<\/em> me!\u201d This time Joe could make out the words\u2014and the tone: his sister-in-law was outraged. He could easily picture her, very upright, with a scandalised eyebrow nearly scratching her hairline. Most probably not even the baby in her arms would ruin the effect that posture had on people; if anything, it would actually enhance it.<\/p>\n

Roy\u2019s words were just the same low mumble; but then Juliet was heard again, and her voice had even risen in volume.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou do have me gravelled here, Sheriff. I was under the impression you were a friend of the family, but apparently\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Again, Roy\u2019s words were too low to be understood clearly, but he talked for quite a while after he\u2019d interrupted her.<\/p>\n

Gravelled<\/em>, Joe thought, not really a word he\u2019d have expected from Juliet. More likely amazed, astounded, stunned. Or non-plussed.<\/em> Yes, he was getting the knack of this synonyming. If there was a word like that. He\u2019d have to ask Ada\u2014well<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s just ridiculous! Joe isn\u2019t violent!<\/em>\u201d Juliet again.<\/p>\n

He stopped his pacing listening carefully, but there were no more words audible.<\/p>\n

Joe isn\u2019t violent.<\/em> He was surprised and touched by her speaking in his favour and also by her confidence in him. Did he have that confidence in himself, too? Joe wasn\u2019t so sure. Not anymore, not after\u2026not after he\u2019d wanted to beat Billy-Bob Colston into a pulp.<\/p>\n

He had wanted to beat Billy-Bob Colston into a pulp to defend the family pride, the family honour. His honour, Adam\u2019s honour, even Juliet\u2019s honour after Billy-Bob had joined Joe at the bar in the Bucket of Blood, raised a glass to him and then started to ramble about how lucky a boy Joe was, having a war hero for a brother and said brother\u2019s depressed soon-to-be widow to comfort, and she was such a pretty bird to boot. How Joe was already parading around with his brother\u2019s wife and son as if they were his; and how much nicer that was than fighting in a war himself.<\/p>\n

And even though this all had been said only because Adam had left his family for something apparently more important, suddenly Joe realised in all clarity that it wasn\u2019t his brother\u2019s fault at all. It wasn\u2019t even Billy-Bob\u2019s fault, the poor drunken fool who\u2019d just blundered out the town\u2019s collected gossip from over the past few weeks. It was his fault, entirely his, Joe Cartwright\u2019s. For Billy-Bob\u2019s words had hit too close to the mark.<\/p>\n

Children and fools tell the truth<\/em>, Joe thought wryly. Maybe he should consult that boy Josiah* Adam and Juliet were so fond of, about it, too, but perhaps Billy-Bob had delivered enough truths for one day.<\/p>\n

Of course, Joe had no intention whatsoever of substituting for his brother at Juliet\u2019s side\u2014the thought alone made him shake, and how anyone could call her \u201cpretty\u201d was beyond him anyway\u2014but yes, he would like to have a girl and a son all for himself. Yes, he felt protective of Henry\u2014and of Juliet, too, as he realised in amazement. Yes, he was afraid she might do something rash, even though he had no idea what. And yes, he felt like hiding behind his war hero older brother when he could be fighting himself.<\/p>\n

It had been the first thing he\u2019d said after they\u2019d come home the day Juliet had returned from San Francisco: \u201cI\u2019ll go, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Naturally, his family had opposed that. Joe had stood his ground and fought for his cause as long as\u2014no, longer even than\u2014he\u2019d seen the ghost of a chance to convince them, even though he should have known he couldn\u2019t win against the pooled forces. And, he had to admit, they were right: he couldn\u2019t do that to Pa, he couldn\u2019t do that to Hoss, he couldn\u2019t do that to the ranch, he couldn\u2019t\u2014no, that was not it. Perhaps he should be ashamed of himself, but, actually, he could do that to Pa, to Hoss, to the ranch, to anyone or anything. To anyone\u2014except Adam.<\/p>\n

It had been Hoss who\u2019d said the magic words. \u201cWhat if you have to shoot at Adam?\u201d After that, joining the Confederate Army hadn\u2019t seemed so exciting anymore.<\/p>\n

But still, it nagged at him. He was the fighter in the family. Always ready to defend himself and others, quick with his gun. Adam was a fast draw, too, no question one of the fastest Joe had ever seen, but Adam would always try and talk first. Talking, however, wouldn\u2019t help Older Brother much in a battle; and so Joe was convinced he was far better suited to be a soldier and a war hero. And yet\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cPalaver, palaver, palaver! Stop cavilling already!\u201d That was Juliet\u2019s voice again. \u201cYou\u2019ve got your money; now let him out. I don\u2019t need your instructions on how to handle a stupid\u2014\u201d She broke off.<\/p>\n

The door into the cell block opened and that\u2019s why Joe heard her much lower spoken \u201cHe won\u2019t do it again, I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n

Roy made a big show of letting Joe out: he made him sign half a dozen forms, gave him his gun back with an admonition, counted the bail money out slowly enough for Joe to see how much it was, and finally told him he would come out to the Ponderosa: \u201cI\u2019m gonna have to talk to yer pa \u2018bout that, Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe rolled his eyes at the same moment Juliet said, \u201cThat won\u2019t be necessary, Mr. Coffee<\/em>\u201d in a voice that allowed no contradiction.<\/p>\n

Roy mumbled, \u201cIffn you say so,\u201d and then they finally were allowed to leave the office.<\/p>\n

In unusual unspoken agreement they headed straight to the waiting buckboard. Luckily Joe had followed Adam\u2019s principle of settling business first before going into the saloon, for loading the wagon would have been a painful affair with his injured hand. Loading would also have delayed their departure\u2014and they both were eager to escape the prying eyes and whispering voices.<\/p>\n

They were halfway to the ranch house when Juliet broke the awkward silence in which they had been travelling.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want to tell me what happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe started. \u201cDidn\u2019t Roy tell you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe said you\u2019d thwacked a man.\u201d She adjusted the baby in her arms. \u201cBut he didn\u2019t tell me why.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d Joe stopped the team. Suddenly he was furious. \u201cWhy? You want to know why? Because Adam\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause Adam\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause Billy-Bob\u2026because he said\u2026because he insin\u2014\u201d He broke off. Insinuated. Hinted, implied, suggested.<\/em> His anger made room for\u2026the truth.<\/p>\n

He looked at his sister-in-law, who sat there next to him, calmly studying his face, her mouth curled into a small smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was mad,\u201d he said in a much lower voice, staring at his hands in his lap. \u201cI was mad, but not about Billy-Bob. He was just there at the wrong place, the wrong time. I was mad, Billy-Bob said something about Adam and\u2026I don\u2019t know what happened, really, it was as if my fists acted on their own. I just had to punch, get my anger out and\u2014I don\u2019t know.\u201d He shook his head, than looked up, shy of her reaction. \u201cAll I know is that I\u2019m so mad about Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n

She laughed. For the first time since she\u2019d come home, she laughed. \u201cYes, he has that effect on people at times, doesn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe never\u2026. He could have talked to us before we went. But he didn\u2019t. He didn\u2019t ask anyone, he just decided for himself.\u201d Joe was aware that he sounded exactly like the adolescent boy he so desperately didn\u2019t want to be taken for.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe leaves you feeling powerless,\u201d Juliet stated bitterly. \u201cYou know<\/em> you have the better arguments, but he refuses to see it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, he was always mule-headed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not \u2018mule-headed\u2019; that\u2019s arrogance, at least in part.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe was surprised. For all their bickering and bantering, neither Adam nor Juliet ever spoke a single ill word about the other to anyone. Something must have happened in San Francisco, something she hadn\u2019t told. Something that had left her with injuries not too different from his own.<\/p>\n

\u201cJuliet,\u201d he started, but she shook her head.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s getting late, Joe. We better get moving.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure.\u201d He flicked the reins, urging the horses into a brisk walk. Another time; he\u2019d ask her another time.<\/p>\n

\u201cI trusted him,\u201d Juliet said so low he nearly couldn\u2019t hear it. \u201cI trusted him not to hurt me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe swallowed. Yep, that\u2019s the gist of the matter.<\/em> \u201cSo did I,\u201d he replied softly.<\/p>\n

For the rest of the ride they remained in mutual silence, and for the first time ever, their shared silence felt welcome.<\/p>\n

Silence<\/em>, Joe thought after a while. Quiet, calm, hush. Tranquillity. Really, I have to stop this.<\/em> He giggled. Once you\u2019ve started, though, you cannot stop. Placidity. Peacefulness.<\/em><\/p>\n

Peacefulness. Right.<\/p>\n

__________<\/p>\n

Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath.\u00a0~Eckhart Tolle<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

* This habit of Adam and the boy Josiah could first be\u00a0 seen in The Art of Horse Selling<\/a><\/p>\n

The words given were: obloquy, cavil, gravelled, shy, palaver<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Chapter 4<\/strong><\/h3>\n

The Shadow of Death<\/h3>\n

Adam had seen corpses before. Corpses of cattle, corpses of horses, corpses of men. He had seen corpses of persons he had cared for, laid out for their wake: washed and combed, delicately clothed and arranged in their coffins, their face and posture telling him they\u2019ve found peace. He had seen corpses of hanged criminals and of attackers shot in self defence, and those men had often looked angry even in death. He had seen even more corpses that ill-fated day at Pyramid Lake when they couldn\u2019t stop the army from fighting a senseless battle against the Paiutes: dead Indian braves and soldiers who looked disappointed and beaten rather than belligerent.<\/p>\n

Yes, he had seen corpses before, more than he had ever wished to see; and yet nothing he had seen before had prepared him for what he saw now:<\/p>\n

The once luminous green of the late spring grass was matted by drying crimson. Strewn over the field were discarded equipment, single boots and grey and blue rags, rifles and straps, horses and smashed artillery, all in utter confusion. And men. Dozens of men, hundreds of men, maybe thousands of men. Uncountable numbers of men, of dead men. Dead men, lying next to each other in nearly orderly rows, in disarranged heaps, or scattered in chaotic constellations across the ground. Dead men, who, before this madness had started, had been living and loving and laughing, just as he, and who now lay there, their bodies bloated, their faces deformed and discoloured, unrecognisable in decomposition\u2014only what was left of their uniforms giving away to which army they had belonged. Not that it mattered anymore other than for statistics; death had done what the war had failed to do so far: it had reunited them, had made them one<\/em> again.<\/p>\n

Adam slowly walked over the field, carefully avoiding stepping upon flung out hands, shed caps or lost properties that had been private before. He covered his mouth and nose with his blue neckerchief to shelter himself from the overbearing smell of death and decay. It was a futile attempt, however, for the stench seemed to have invaded his system already, had become a part of him. It was where he was, followed him everywhere, or maybe even he was the source of it.<\/p>\n

He stumbled, nearly fell, but caught himself just in time to avoid landing face-first into a mess of maggots teeming in the innards of a burst horse. He turned around, nauseated, to check on what had caught his foot, and saw long, bare legs stretched out behind him. Long legs, eerily familiar, belonging to a body stripped of its uniform. Sometimes people searched the battlefields looking for uniforms they could still use, since the army wear was made of high quality wool\u2014better material than most country folks could afford. Apparently this soldier\u2019s uniform had been in good shape, maybe fairly new, and quite obviously not torn: there were no wounds, no blood on the body except for the gaping slit in his scalp and the masses of dried red that caked in his black hair and concealed his face.<\/p>\n

The corpse showed no signs of putrefaction: the soldier must have died not too long ago. Adam felt a chill running down his spine. He tried not to think about how long the man must have lain here, maybe conscious but unable to move, waiting to be rescued. He tried not to think about how he must have lost hope at some point and slowly succumbed to blood loss, exposure, and loneliness.<\/p>\n

He leaned down to clean the soldier\u2019s bloodied face with the neckerchief he still was clutching in his hand. The least he could do was to try and identify a man who still was identifiable. The blood vanished completely after the first stroke, and Adam recoiled at the sight before him: he was staring down into his own face.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo!\u201d<\/p>\n

He jolted upright on his cot breathing heavily, with his throat feeling rough and his body sweaty. Panicky, he looked around in the dark. No corpses<\/em>. He was in his tent, and there were no corpses, only sleeping men. The air in the tent was thick and filled with snores and vapours exuded by men. Living<\/em> men. A nightmare. Just a nightmare.<\/em> Adam breathed in and out, slowly, deliberately, and forced himself to calm down. The images in his head didn\u2019t go away, though. Those pictures would stay with him for the rest of his days. No one who had seen what he had seen would be able to ever forget it.<\/p>\n

This isn\u2019t your war, Adam,<\/em> he heard Juliet\u2019s voice in his head, and for a second he wished she\u2019d been right. Or that at least she\u2019d been able to keep him from enlisting. And then, for the tiniest moment, he allowed himself to be furious with her for not having played that last trump that would have held him back. If she\u2019d threatened to leave him, he was sure he wouldn\u2019t be here now. He wouldn\u2019t have the nightmares he had, he wouldn\u2019t have the pictures in his head and the smell in his nose, and he wouldn\u2019t feel alone and cold and in desperate need of\u2026her<\/em>. Her beaming smile, her radiant eyes, her inviting arms, her waiting soft, warm body. Her \u201cright nows\u201d and her raised eyebrow, her ability to let herself go and make him let go, her liveliness and her scent of honey and home.<\/p>\n

Suddenly he felt he\u2019d suffocate if he stayed inside any longer. Putting on boots and his warm overcoat, he left the tent and joined a group of men who\u2019d gathered around a campfire inside a square of billets.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan\u2019t sleep, either?\u201d he was greeted by the voice of Leopold Hohmeyer, who seemed to spend most of the nights outside.<\/p>\n

\u201cMhmm.\u201d<\/p>\n

Someone offered him a tin mug, and then Hohmeyer poured him some coffee from a pot that had been kept warm near by the fire.<\/p>\n

\u201cThanks, Leo.\u201d Adam sat down and drank the strong, bitter brew. He looked up at the star-spangled sky, the only familiar thing out here. Maybe, he thought longingly, maybe right now Juliet was star gazing, too. Henry might have woken her up and after she\u2019d nursed him and tucked him in, she now stood on the front porch and watched the stars, thinking of him.<\/p>\n

If she wasn\u2019t still too mad with him.<\/p>\n

He sighed.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat coffee not enough to satisfy you tonight, Adam?\u201d Leopold tugged at his sleeve. \u201cAre you waiting for a falling star to wish upon?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat good could a meteor do?\u201d Adam winced at his own bitterness. He looked up into Leo\u2019s face to find nothing but understanding there. It was strange, but being comrades in arms brought an openness and connection between men Adam had never experienced before, let alone would have expected. \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d he said.\u201d I just feel\u2014\u201d Feel what?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cLonely?\u201d Leo suggested.<\/p>\n

\u201cKinda.\u201d<\/p>\n

Leo grinned suggestively. \u201cI\u2019ve heard there are some highly exclusive cocottes in the camp tonight. Maybe one of them can make you feel less lonely.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey are the best, Adam. The prettiest, loveliest, finest\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam shook his head. \u201cGive me as many superlatives as you like, Leo, I won\u2019t be tempted.\u201d He smiled at Leo\u2019s incredulous grimace. \u201cI\u2019m a married man, y\u2019know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMost of us are.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI love my wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI love my wife, too.\u201d Leo said, irritated. \u201cBut my wife is not here; and sometimes I need\u2026a substitute.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam emptied his coffee mug. \u201cNo cocotte, not even \u2018the best,\u2019 can substitute for my wife. No woman<\/em> can substitute for her. And I wouldn\u2019t want that anyway. It wouldn\u2019t be right.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut a man has needs. And I don\u2019t mean those<\/em> needs, Adam. There might come a time, when your needs are stronger than your loyalty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy needs<\/em>, whatever they might be, can only be fulfilled by Juliet. No other woman could replace her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou say that now, but wait until you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d Adam stood and handed Leo the empty mug. \u201cI could never find what I need in another woman. Never.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned sharply and headed back to his tent, mumbling \u201cnever\u201d over and over again, like a mantra, hoping that his indignation would be sufficient enough to eventually distract him from the image of his own dead face that rose up in his mind every time he didn\u2019t concentrate on something else.<\/p>\n

__________<\/p>\n

War is hell. ~William Tecumseh Sherman<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u00a0The words given were: meteor, constellation, Leo, superlative, radiant<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Chapter 5<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Between the Lines<\/h3>\n

\u201cMy dear Juliet,<\/p>\n

\u201cI hope this letter finds you well\u2014and in a forgiving mood.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt seems we hurt most the people we love most. It seems I<\/em> hurt most the people I love most. I am sorry. I am sorry I hurt you. Please understand that I never intended to cause you distress, never meant to betray you, please understand that I did what my conscience told me to do.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you remember how we talked about honour once?* I said I couldn\u2019t look into the mirror in the morning if I knew I\u2019d done something dishonourable. And before I left for Virginia it was hard to look at myself in the mirror, harder and harder each day. Staying out of the war and letting others fight for my convictions seemed just that: dishonourable. Mylady, remember how you told me you thought I was incapable of doing something dishonourable? That I would never do anything I thought was wrong?<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought staying safely at home was wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet snorted. Leave it to Adam to use my own words against me.<\/em> She read his bold script again, and only on that second reading she realised he even had mimicked her spelling. \u201cHonour.\u201d She shook her head, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to light up her features, and she snorted again as she surrendered to the futileness of it. As she felt the family\u2019s eyes on her, she looked up to see Ben gazing at her questioningly. She smiled faintly at him, finding herself embarrassed and quickly lowered her eyes to the letter she held in a white-knuckled grip.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd it would have been wrong. Leopold Hohmeyer and I were enthusiastically welcomed at the XI Corps. They do need every able man after they sustained some losses at Chancellorsville in early May. I was made sergeant with the prospect of being promoted soon. I\u2019m not sure I want to be promoted, though. Don\u2019t roll your eyes. I\u2019m not an expert in military life, and having to command a bunch of soldiers who are far more experienced than I am reminds me painfully of the first weeks at the Ponderosa when I came home from college.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re now stationed near Fredericksburg, where we moved shortly after I enlisted. Life at the camp is a bit like going on a hunting trip. I\u2019m sharing a tent with Leo and a handful of other men, most of them German immigrants. There are two brothers, Karl and Fritz Boettcher, who remind me a lot of Hoss and Joe. Fritz has a new inventive idea on how to raise their meager pay every second day; and Karl takes care that his brother doesn\u2019t fall too hard on his behind when his latest scheme goes inevitably awry. It\u2019s almost like being at home. They are good men, and very amiable. Along with Leo, who has become a close friend in a very short time, they try to teach me German words. Words like Liebchen<\/em> and mein Schatz<\/em>\u2014I asked Leo to confirm those words I mentioned mean \u201csweetheart\u201d and \u201cmy darling\u201d (be sure, Fritz loves to slip in words I can\u2019t share with you)\u2014as well as commands like schnell<\/em> and Deckung<\/em> (\u201cquick\u201d and \u201cget cover.\u201d)<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you don\u2019t really need my translations, do you? I know now that your German must be much better than you made me believe. General Schurz does indeed remember you. He said you plagued him with questions about the Bonner Zeitung<\/em> when he wanted to teach you Goethe\u2019s words. Yes, he said \u201cplagued.\u201d What have you done to the poor man?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy…? Nothing,\u201d Juliet couldn\u2019t help but mumble indignantly. All she had done was inquire after the German Revolution in which she\u2019d known Schurz had played not too small a role and the newspaper he had founded. There was nothing wrong in being interested in one\u2019s work, was there? Very fortunately the rest of her family was too occupied with studying their own letters to notice her muttering.<\/p>\n

The rest of her family. Her<\/em> family. When had she started to consider them her<\/em> family, not just her husband\u2019s? It must have happened sometime between her coming home from San Francisco and today. As if Adam\u2019s absence had moved them closer together, as if missing Adam had connected them more than loving him. She let the hand holding Adam\u2019s letter sink down into her lap, taking a break from reading to watch her<\/em> family.<\/p>\n

Hoss sat on the edge of the hearth, holding his letter in both hands. His back was bent, his face showed attentive concentration. He knew that every word Adam wrote counted, and he knew how to read the whole truth out of them.<\/p>\n

Hoss, with his sky-blue eyes that reminded her so much of her brother Henry, had been her friend from the moment they\u2019d met; and in the year she\u2019d been married to Adam, he had become a brother. In many ways a different brother than Henry had been, but very similar in that one thing: Hoss was one of the few people by whom she felt understood. Recognised. She never felt the need to explain anything to him.<\/p>\n

Joe, sitting on the settee, had his letter loosely in one hand, his elbow resting on a cushion and his feet on the table\u2014a fact that must have slipped his father\u2019s attention: usually only Adam got away with propping his feet on furniture. (Juliet suspected that it was Ben\u2019s way of making up for the very strict way he\u2019d raised Adam on their journey to the West.) Joe\u2019s eyes seemed to be running over the sheet of paper, his mouth slightly agape, one corner of it curling into an easy half-smile every now and then. Suddenly he began to giggle and looked up and around as if to check if the others had the same funny part in their letters, too. When his eyes found Juliet\u2019s, she cocked a questioning eyebrow mouthing \u201cFritz?\u201d and chuckled at his surprised nod \u201cyes.\u201d<\/p>\n

This exchange would have been impossible two months ago. The connexion between Joe and her had never been the easiest, and most probably never would: they seemed to be just too different. But Adam\u2019s lonely decision had made them equals, had brought out some unexpected similarities, had made them see the necessity to look for affinities rather than for distinctions.<\/p>\n

She tried to be less biting towards her younger brother-in-law, to be more tolerant of his youthfulness; and in turn Joe seemed to make an effort not to mistake her sarcasm for insults and her habitual aloofness for rejection. For the time being, it all worked out surprisingly well.<\/p>\n

Ben was holding his letter like a precious gift. He read it with an expression somewhere between delighted and pained, and Juliet fully understood why. Unlike Hoss and Joe, Ben had fought in a war, and he was aware that this very letter could be the last sign of life he\u2019d ever get from his first born.<\/p>\n

Involuntarily, Juliet reached out for Henry\u2019s bassinet that was placed next to her chair. She kept the baby in close reach; in the first days after she\u2019d come home from San Francisco she\u2019d carried him in her arms almost constantly, until her father-in-law had come and gently pried him from her.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe won\u2019t leave, too,\u201d he had said; and it had sounded like a promise both to her and to himself. To them all, the whole family.<\/p>\n

Her family. The family that had become hers when she had started to accept their help, and their love.<\/p>\n

She swallowed, but couldn\u2019t keep her eyes from watering, and quickly hid her face by bowing her head over the letter again. It took her a while, though, until her vision had cleared enough to make out its words.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe will be moving again soon. Lee\u2019s army is shifting northwards, and it seems General Meade is intending to follow and confront them. But no more of that. I\u2019m sure you\u2019re still keeping in touch with Joe Goodman from the Enterprise<\/em> and have firsthand information about every little skirmish.<\/p>\n

\u201cMylady, I wish the celebration of our first anniversary could have never ended. In my dreams I can still see you with that green dress lying in waves around your feet. You looked so radiant, with your eyes sparkling, your skin almost translucent, your hair a golden cascade\u2026like Venus emerging from the sea. I ache for the day I\u2019ll hold you in my arms again.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy love, I miss you and Henry more than I can express. I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

The words blurred again. This time there was no hiding it, and so she decided to make a quick exit. How she hurried out of the house and onto the front porch wasn\u2019t very dignified, but it saved her from questions and well-meant words. She wasn\u2019t always amenable to facing her family\u2019s love.<\/p>\n

She stood there leaning against one of the sturdy posts that carried the porch roof, angrily wiping away the traces of lachrymose weakness from her face, cooling her burning cheeks in the fresh night air.<\/p>\n

Adam had never written her a love letter. No one had ever written her a love letter, for that matter; and as wonderful as it was that she\u2019d finally gotten one, as much as she felt warmed by his words, as much as they overflowed her with joy, that much she found herself pained that those words were written, not spoken, and she was chilled by the haunting notion that they might never be spoken at all.<\/p>\n

She glanced up at the sky. The stars sparkled down at her as if nothing had ever happened. They sat there just as they had since the beginning of time, as they had when Adam had shown her Ursa Major<\/em>, the Pleiades<\/em> and other constellations, more of them than she could ever remember. She wondered if Adam was watching the stars, too, maybe right now, seeking solace in their quiet company.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s colder than one would think after such a scorching day,\u201d she heard her father-in-law\u2019s warm voice murmur as he wrapped her pale blue shawl around her shoulders. \u201cI don\u2019t want you to catch a chill.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you.\u201d She found herself surprised that she really meant it. Perhaps now it was time to accept some family-love.<\/p>\n

Ben didn\u2019t waste any time feigning ignorance. Apparently he\u2019d learned that Juliet preferred direct speech; and that any kind of beating around the bush would just lead to her withdrawing into herself.<\/p>\n

\u201cWas there something in that letter upsetting you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. It\u2019s a lovely letter, it\u2014\u201d Whom was she kidding? \u201cIt\u2019s not what\u2019s in the letter,\u201d she started again. \u201cIt\u2019s what\u2019s not in the letter that concerns me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s not<\/em> in the letter.\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t voice it as a question. Maybe he hoped she would tell anyway or maybe he knew the answer already. It didn\u2019t matter. She had to say it out loud, had to tell it, tell it to the stars so they might tell Adam that she wasn\u2019t fooled, that she wouldn\u2019t be lulled in, that she knew<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam makes the war sound like a camping trip.\u201d She turned and looked Ben straight in the eye. He didn\u2019t have to nod; she read in his face that he was with her. \u201cHe talks about friends he\u2019s made, about witty conversations and practical jokes. But he doesn\u2019t say he\u2019s all right. He wouldn\u2019t lie to me, and that\u2019s why he doesn\u2019t say he\u2019s all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

She turned back, looked over the dark nocturnal yard, then up again to her friends, the stars. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t tell about fighting and if it feels that he\u2019s making a difference; he doesn\u2019t share what he\u2019s living through. And that he doesn\u2019t share tells me it must be horrendous. It scares me. It scares me because I fear that even if I get him back eventually, I won\u2019t get him<\/em> back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow, Juliet\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBen, I\u2019m not ignorant. Adam\u2019s at Fredericksburg, and I know what happened at Fredericksburg. You\u2019ve seen the pictures in the Territorial Enterprise<\/em>, too. He has been there. Ben, he has seen all that\u2014and not in a picture but in reality. He\u2019s been a part<\/em> of it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThose pictures…they were illustrations, drawings. I don\u2019t mean any offence, but you and I know how Goodman likes to exaggerate. You can\u2019t know if\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe pictures were painted after photographs. They don\u2019t exaggerate. It\u2019s how it was.\u201d She took a deep breath. \u201cIt\u2019s how it\u2019s going to be until this stupid war ends. It\u2019s how Adam will go through it until\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUntil he comes home.\u201d Ben took her by her upper arms, turned her around and locked eyes with her. \u201cUntil he comes home. We have to have faith. We have to pray and have faith in the Lord. He will bring him home.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was comfortable to believe it. Ben\u2019s voice was comforting and calming, reassuring and urgent. And Juliet wanted to believe; she wanted to be comforted and reassured. She let it happen, let herself be carried on a wave of faith, trying to ignore the tight knot that formed inside her stomach, and so it took her completely by surprise when she suddenly heaved and vomited the remains of her supper in a bed of Queen de Bourbon roses.<\/p>\n

__________<\/p>\n

The reality of the other person lies not in what he reveals to you,
\nbut what he cannot reveal to you. Therefore, if you would
\nunderstand him, listen not to what he says,
\nbut rather to what he does not say. ~<\/em>Kahlil Gibrain<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u00a0*This conversation took place in The Art of Setting Priorities<\/a> chapter 24.<\/p>\n

This time we were allowed to choose ten words out of a list of fifty. Somehow I ended up with using seventeen: betray, conscience, honour, Leo, brothers, husband, gift, promise, celebration, anniversary, green, sparkling, radiant, dream, dignified, joy, constellation.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 6<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Homo Homini Lupus<\/strong><\/h3>\n

\u201cCemetery Hill, July 1st<\/p>\n

\u201cMy dear Juliet\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

The small camp fire gave only a little light, and Adam had to sit in an awkward position to prevent a shadow being created on the paper by his writing hand. He knew he should be resting, should be building up strength for the next day, but he also knew that sleep was likely to elude him, and that even if not his sleep would not bring any rest at all. The only thing that would give him some sort of relaxation was, indeed, this letter. A letter that would never be sent, just as all those other letters he had written never had been sent. He had carried them with him for a day or two, then thrown them into the campfire and watched how they slowly turned into ashes.<\/p>\n

Those letters were\u2026not really letters. He had seen many men writing journals\u2014Leo did it, too, nearly every night\u2014but Adam didn\u2019t find a journal to be what he needed. The things he needed to shape into words and sentences were not things he wanted to keep. Not things he wanted to store somewhere to be able to come back one day and read them. What for? To remember? As if a man could forget those things. As if a man would not, on every single day of his life, wish, hope, and pray to forget those things and never have to recall any of them. Juliet of all people would understand the urge to write\u2014and the need to keep it secret.<\/p>\n

He smiled. Juliet would also insist that he\u2019d send her the letters; she would read them and never say a word if he didn\u2019t ask for one. She would listen if he felt the urge to talk, and she would understand\u2014would understand also if he never talked.<\/p>\n

Of course, he would never actually burden her with\u2026with this<\/em>. But he would pretend he did because telling her put things into perspective, gave him a distance he desperately needed to make sense of what happened to him, of what happened with him.<\/p>\n

He crossed out the first words and started anew.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy beloved Juliet,<\/p>\n

Lupus est homo homini<\/em>; that is the essence of today\u2019s events: man is a wolf to man. And I, dearest, am not sure anymore if I am man or wolf.<\/p>\n

Early this morning, we were ordered to march to Gettysburg to reinforce General Reynolds\u2019 troops which were outnumbered by Confederate forces. We arrived there around noon and were sent north to…\u201d<\/p>\n

It had been a hot march. The sun had burnt down on them relentlessly, making them short-breathed and tired even before they\u2019d reached their destination. Their knapsacks had become heavier by the minute, the straps cutting deep into aching shoulders. Goodness, Adam wasn\u2019t unaccustomed to working in heat, but his heavy woolen jacket had given him the feeling of being cooked alive in a custom-made potbelly stove.<\/p>\n

Upon arriving at Gettysburg, news had spread that Reynolds had been killed in action and that now General Howard was commanding officer of all present Union forces. Subsequently, Major General Schurz had been appointed temporary commander of the XI Corps, and Adam\u2019s division put under command of Brigade General Schimmelpfennig, a man Adam couldn\u2019t really assess. While, in the past weeks, he had come to know and appreciate Schurz as a thoughtful leader who stayed on top of things, had a knack for tactics and a keen perception for the enemy\u2019s next move, he knew nearly nothing about Schimmelpfennig, only that the man was a decided supporter of nativism. He was an unknown quantity to Adam\u2014and therefore something that made him uneasy.<\/p>\n

All too soon, Adam\u2019s bad feelings about this change in command would prove right.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe took position in the north of town, below Oak Hill, in a terrain of farmland, featureless and plain. It wasn\u2019t easy to defend in the first place, and soon we found ourselves attacked from two sides, heavily outnumbered and trapped in artillery crossfire, unable to find cover. A slaughterhouse, a veritable slaughterhouse. The noise\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

The noise<\/em>. Adam stopped writing and ran his hand over his face, not even noticing how the edge of the pen ripped a long scrape into his skin. He stared into the low fire next to him, watched the sparks dance merrily and listened to the crackling embers\u2019 gentle song.<\/p>\n

The noise had been the worst. The noise: artillery, gunfire, and screams. Cannons, rifles, men.<\/p>\n

Gunfire and screams. Shots from thousands of barrels, shouts from thousands of lungs, the overlying deep, dark thunder of bombardment\u2014all that had accumulated into one single roar: a cacophony of dread.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was a slaughterhouse\u2014and a madhouse. The air was thick with noise and smoke; it wasn\u2019t easy to retain orientation. Half of the time I didn\u2019t know where exactly I was or where to head\u2014not realizing that there hardly was a way to go. Man after man fell, comrade, friend, foe…sometimes you couldn\u2019t even discern which. Does it make a difference at all?<\/p>\n

\u201cThey say it lasted barely an hour, but it surely didn\u2019t feel so. It was a lifetime, no less. An eternity. As if my very existence consisted solely of this one roaring, smoking rage.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rage. Rage<\/em>. Adam shuddered. He pulled at the edges of the blanket slung around his shoulder to close them over his chest. He snorted. No matter how many blankets he wrapped around himself, no matter how close he huddled to the fire, he couldn\u2019t rid himself of the chill that had taken residence in his body, that made his hands ice cold and his shoulders shake from fatigue.<\/p>\n

Rage. He closed his eyes and nodded to himself. Rage, that was it. The one thing that had taken him by surprise. He had felt rage during the battle, rage\u2014and nothing else. Not excitement (even though there had been a certain element of anxiety among the corps before the battle had begun, or rather anticipation,<\/em> a tense commotion not unlike the nervous hoof stomping of a race horse seconds before the start); not fear (despite the fact that he\u2019d been sure he would not survive the day); not sorrow (that came later)\u2014none of that, only rage.<\/p>\n

He snorted. Whom was he kidding? His rage had been fed by excitement, fear, and sorrow, had been kindled by them.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t remember much from the battle, just smoke and noise, and rage. He had tried to keep track of his men in the beginning, but, of course, in the general mayhem he\u2019d lost them soon enough. He had fired his gun, most of the time not even checking if he\u2019d hit his target\u2014there was always another man in grey leveling a rifle on him. A gun pointing in his direction was the only sure indicator that a soldier was indeed a foe, though. The Confederates weren\u2019t as well equipped as the Union soldiers; sometimes they didn\u2019t even have a uniform or wore one they had captured from a Federal.<\/p>\n

Once he had used his bayonet. He hoped he would never have to do it again. The man he had stabbed had fallen down on his knees, only an arm\u2019s length from Adam. His eyes wide in surprise, he hadn\u2019t even clutched his blood-spilling chest; and then his mouth had curled into a small sad smile before he\u2019d fallen face first into the dry topsoil. \u201cWhy?\u201d he had seemed to ask, and Adam still didn\u2019t know an answer to that.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe were already falling back toward Gettysburg, when we were ordered to retreat through the town, thus bringing the fight into it. Smaller skirmishes everywhere, on the street between the houses, in gardens and yards. Some, I\u2019m ashamed to say, sought refuge in houses, basements, anything with a fence to hide behind it.\u201d<\/p>\n

He had seen General Schimmelpfennig climbing a fence\u2014but the general hadn\u2019t made it to Cemetery Hill, so apparently his cowardice hadn\u2019t served him at all and he had been killed or captured anyway.<\/p>\n

Seeing the general setting such a bad example had enraged Adam even more, and he had started looking into the yards and back gardens, rousting men who had thought their fight was over\u2014surely not making too many friends with that.<\/p>\n

And then he had found Karl and Fritz Boettcher.<\/p>\n

Hidden in the sheltered doorway of a house, little Fritz was sitting on the stairs, his brother settled between his legs on a step below him, the giant\u2019s back resting on Fritz\u2019s chest. Fritz stared at Adam, looking not a bit like the notorious mischief maker but like a frightened child.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s too heavy, I can\u2019t drag him anymore,\u201d Fritz whispered.<\/p>\n

Adam crouched down. The biggest part of Karl\u2019s left arm was missing and his coat was a bloody mess, but the hole in his abdomen and the stump of his arm weren\u2019t pumping out new blood. Even though he knew the result already, Adam searched for a pulse at the big man\u2019s throat.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s gone,\u201d he said softly. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to carry him anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, he can\u2019t…he cannot, cannot be\u2014\u201d Fritz choked. He patted his brother\u2019s pale cheek, rattled his shoulders. \u201cKarl?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFritz, he\u2019s dead. And we have to leave. We have to go. Now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fritz looked up, bewildered. \u201cBut you don\u2019t understand: he…he\u2019s my brother.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know. I know it\u2019s hard, but you have to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd he\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fritz shook his head. \u201cHe wasn\u2019t supposed to die.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFritz…we have to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. I won\u2019t leave Karl here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam sighed. \u201cI know how you feel, really, but if you stay here then you are a deserter. You don\u2019t want to be a deserter, do you, Fritz?\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy\u2014Lord, he was a boy, a boy just like Joe, maybe even younger\u2014winced but didn\u2019t show the slightest inclination to move.<\/p>\n

Adam sighed again. Joe<\/em>, he thought, and then he adopted his big brother voice. \u201cGo ahead,\u201d he said. \u201cBe a deserter. Be a coward. I\u2019m sure your brother, wherever he might be now, will enjoy it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fritz swallowed visibly. \u201cI don\u2019t…I\u2019m not a coward,\u201d he said defiantly. \u201cBut I can\u2019t leave Karl here where he won\u2019t get a proper burial.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFritz, think! We can\u2019t carry him, he\u2019s too heavy. And he has got a coin, hasn\u2019t he?\u201d Adam fumbled at Karl\u2019s coat. \u201cHe showed it to me, said I should get one, too.\u201d He found the small medal with Karl\u2019s name and corps and carefully laid it on top of the coat. \u201cLook, whoever lives in this house will find him and see the coin. They will report his death and he will get a proper burial.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd a headstone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd a headstone with his name on it, yes. Now let\u2019s go!\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t know how they had made it to Cemetery Hill; somehow it felt as if he\u2019d dragged Fritz with him the entire way. He also had no recollection of when the enemy fire had finally died down; the only thing he remembered was that eventually someone had stopped him, had held him until his struggle to get free had subsided, all the time yelling in his ear, \u201cYou\u2019re safe, comrade, you\u2019re safe!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBeloved, I\u2019m safe now. For tonight, I\u2019m safe. There\u2019s an exhausted silence hanging over the camp. So many are missing. Leo…I haven\u2019t seen Leo tonight. Nearly half of the corps has fallen or was captured\u2014I will force myself to hope Leo is among the latter.<\/p>\n

General Hancock arrived in the afternoon and has taken command over the forces. General Meade is expected later tonight, as are more Confederate troops. This is far from over, and I presume the worst is yet to come.<\/p>\n

God help us.\u201d<\/p>\n

__________
\nWhat a cruel thing is war: to separate and destroy families and friends,
\nand mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world;
\nto fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors,
\nand to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world. ~Robert E. Lee<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

The words given were: wolf, oak, ice, doorway, stove.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 7<\/strong><\/h3>\n

The Harvest of Death<\/h3>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s a goner, Maxine. Don\u2019t waste your time on a lost case when there are so many others here who still have a chance.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of course, Flora was right. But… \u201cHe\u2019s so handsome.\u201d Maxine pursed her lips. That was in no way a professional approach. In fact, it was highly unprofessional and exactly what Sister Mary Frances had cautioned her against all those years ago when she\u2019d first started education at the nursing school.<\/p>\n

The patient\u2019s unnatural sleep became restless\u2014again. He thrashed around on the narrow cot, mumbling unintelligible words and furrowing his dark brows while he restlessly turned his head from one side to the other.<\/p>\n

Maxine put restraining hands on the soldier\u2019s chest, knowing from the experience of the last few days that human contact was the only thing that would bring the man back into a more peaceful slumber.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaxine<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI…really, I can\u2019t let him alone\u2014not like this, not when…not now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Flora gave her a pitiful look, then sighed. \u201cAll right, have your way. But if I need you to help me care for a living<\/em> soul\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe is<\/em> a living soul.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBarely.\u201d Flora shook her head and then turned and walked away, briskly, as if caring for a dying man was a major affront to…well, whomever. The living, maybe.<\/em> Lord, when had she become a cynic?<\/p>\n

\u201cMhmm…\u201d The man\u2019s moans got louder, and his hand went down to where his right leg had been before the spreading infection had forced the doctors to amputate it. Very often, it took the patients days to realise that an amputated limb had actually gone; and even when they were fully aware of its absence, it continued hurting them. It was a small blessing that this particular patient most probably would never register what he\u2019d lost.<\/p>\n

Maxine rubbed small circles on the man\u2019s chest, something that always made him calm down. She wondered if his wife had used to do the same thing. \u201cShh,\u201d she cooed, casting a quick glance around. \u201cShh, Adam, it\u2019s all right. You\u2019re safe here.\u201d<\/p>\n

At least he had a name. Many soldiers were unidentifiable. Some had small coins with their names engraved tucked in their pockets or hanging on a chain around their necks, some were lucid enough to tell their names; but far too many were brought in unconscious and without anything on them that said who they were. Adam had been one of those senseless men and, blessedly, had remained so throughout the whole ordeal he\u2019d undergone. But he\u2019d carried a letter in his pocket, addressed to \u201cMrs. Juliet Cartwright\u201d and signed \u201cAdam,\u201d so they knew not only his name but also that he was married.<\/p>\n

Maxine knew that many soldiers were married, that most had families at home, parents, siblings, wives, children; but knowing Adam\u2019s wife\u2019s name made it even more real, made the fear and desperation that woman must feel waiting for her husband to return tangible and haunting. And how devastating it would be for her when she eventually got the news that would shatter all her hopes.<\/p>\n

And there was no doubt that that woman\u2019s hopes would be shattered. Sweat drops on Adam\u2019s forehead told Maxine that his fever was spiking again, and she was sure that his debilitated body wouldn\u2019t stand another attack. To offer what little comfort there was, she wetted a cloth and wiped the sweat from his brow, cooing to him as if to a little child, what seemed to have become her mantra. \u201cShh, Adam, it\u2019s all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

This time, it evoked a reaction. To Maxine\u2019s utmost surprise, the man\u2019s upper body shot up. His eyes flew open, and he stared at her, frantically, uttering his first discernible words, \u201cI…no…mhmm…Ju\u2014Ju\u2014Ju\u2014\u201d And then all strength seemed to leave him, and he fell back, panting heavily.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know,\u201d Maxine said. \u201cI know, Adam. Don\u2019t speak, save your strength.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo…Ju…\u201d He broke off again.<\/p>\n

\u201cShh, I understand. I\u2019ll tell her.\u201d And she would. She could acquire her address, couldn\u2019t she? She would write his wife a letter, when all this was over and she would be able to put it into words, this desperation that made a man use his last breath to whisper his wife\u2019s name.<\/p>\n

His last breath<\/em>? She bent over him. \u201cAdam?\u201d<\/p>\n

He was silent. No more thrashing, no more moaning, no more head throwing. His handsome face looked tranquil. The pained crease over his brows gone; his features relaxed, his eyes focused on a world beyond comprehension. He was at peace.<\/p>\n

Maxine swallowed a sob. Tenderly, she brushed over his eyes, closing the lids. \u201cFarewell,\u201d she whispered, and then she drew the thin blanket over his face.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaxine, quick!\u201d The yell came from the other side of the hospital tent, and Maxine hurried to where her help was needed for fixing a man who actually had a chance to live.<\/p>\n

Two thousand or so miles away, Juliet Cartwright woke from yet another dream about Adam telling her, in fluent German, that he did love her, but that she simply had to understand that there was a greater good that was more important than personal happiness.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s bedlam, Adam,\u201d she had answered, \u201ccomplete moonshine.\u201d<\/p>\n

But just as Adam cocked his head and pursed his lips, and she squared her shoulders and lifted her right eyebrow in preparation for their habitual battle of wits, the desperate cries of little Henry penetrated the scene, and she left the place with a last regretful glance at Adam, who suddenly looked very serious and whispered, \u201cI love you, Juliet.\u201d<\/p>\n

She wondered fleetingly why dream-Adam said those words real life-Adam never found necessary to utter, but she soon was distracted by more urgent matters, like changing a wet diaper and feeding a hungry mouth.<\/p>\n

At the age of five months, Henry seemed to need less and less sleep, and so he didn\u2019t take it too kindly when Juliet tried to put him back into his bed. He was dry and fed, and apparently he thought now it was time for entertainment\u2014a view Juliet wasn\u2019t inclined to share. Henry\u2019s previous night had been a seemingly never-ending sequence of sleep and wake \u2019n\u2019 wail, sleep and wake \u2019n\u2019 wail; and the intervals between Henry\u2019s awakenings had become shorter and shorter as the night had drawn out. Consequently, neither of them had gotten nearly as much sleep as Doctor Martin had pronounced healthy and normal. And now it was five in the morning, and Henry had decided that the night was over. How he could be as wide awake as he was now, was beyond Juliet\u2014she certainly was dead on her feet and would have given a kingdom for an hour more of sleep. Alas, she didn\u2019t have a kingdom to put into the bargain, and Henry obviously wasn\u2019t interested in any commerce anyway: he made his discontent with his unwilling mother loudly known.<\/p>\n

Babies, Juliet thought not for the first time, were merciless. She sighed. \u201cOh, all right,\u201d she gave up, scooping Henry out of his bed. \u201cYou win.\u201d<\/p>\n

And so the family found a very tired-looking Juliet, uncharacteristically slumped in her seat, when they came down into the great room for breakfast that morning.<\/p>\n

Henry was lying on his back on the settee in front of her playing with his naked feet. His toes seemed to hold a particular fascination for him, and apparently there was nothing more fulfilling in his world than to stuff them into his wet, toothless mouth and suck on them. As soon as he spotted his uncles, however, Henry stopped abusing his feet as pacifiers. He made a gurgling sound, flailed his little arms enthusiastically, and greeted his two favourite entertainers with a big, open-mouthed smile. Said entertainers returned his welcome by grinning like two lunatics, and, abandoning every thought of breakfast, crouched down in the narrow space between the settee and the coffee table.<\/p>\n

Juliet, happy to be relieved of duty, slid aside making room for the uncle brigade. She was joined by her father-in-law, who cast a concerned glance on her before he turned his attention to Henry\u2019s morning merriment.<\/p>\n

\u201cLookee who\u2019s awake already,\u201d Hoss said in his funniest-uncle-of-the-world voice and tickled Henry\u2019s belly until the baby squealed in delight. \u201cDootsie, dootsie, dootsie,\u201d he then added genially.<\/p>\n

Henry stopped squealing and frowned at his uncle.<\/p>\n

Hoss laughed. \u201cAre ya doin\u2019 an Adam on us again, little rascal?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course, he is,\u201d Joe chimed in. \u201cHe\u2019s grown out of baby talk weeks ago. I\u2019ve told you, he\u2019s the smartest baby ever born.\u201d<\/p>\n

Henry grinned at Joe, and started to wiggle his arms and kick his legs rather energetically.<\/p>\n

Joe picked a silver rattle up from the table and held it above Henry\u2019s face, just in reach of his arms. The boy\u2019s gaze focused on the rattle, his grin gave way for a look of utmost concentration, and then came back instantly as he snatched the toy out of Joe\u2019s hand. Henry shook the rattle enthusiastically for a while until he stopped to try and stuff the elephant-shaped top into his mouth.<\/p>\n

Both his uncles went forward to rescue the poor silver animal, and Henry was instantly distracted. With a quick motion he delivered a surprisingly well-aimed whack at Hoss\u2019s head.<\/p>\n

Joe exploded with laughter.<\/p>\n

And earned a whack at his head for that.<\/p>\n

Hoss wisely held his burst of laughter back, but to no avail. Henry quite obviously recognised a sophisticated game when he saw one, and kept on banging his rattle on heads right and left. From his gurgling giggle it was easy to discern that he had quite a pleasant time, and the simple fact that neither Joe nor Hoss shrank back an inch said that the pleasure was mutual.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou two are<\/em> lunatics,\u201d Juliet mumbled when she moved between her brothers-in-law to see what all the giggling and cackling was about and found them being happily mishandled by her baby son.<\/p>\n

Henry stopped his actions immediately, and smiled, as impossible as it seemed, even wider when he saw his mother.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat, was that what you were pining for tonight? A scuffle with your uncles?\u201d She pinched the baby\u2019s nose fondly, and, leaning down, whispered conspiratorially, \u201cYour grandfather doesn\u2019t tolerate scuffling in the house, though.\u201d<\/p>\n

Henry listened intently, then puckered his lips and aimed the rattle at her.<\/p>\n

Juliet raised an eyebrow. \u201cYou might want to think about it, Henry.\u201d<\/p>\n

Henry considered his mother, still with those puckered lips that made everyone think of Adam. And then his mouth melted into that fat smile that was entirely his, and he smacked the silver elephant on Joe\u2019s forehead.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, yeah, yer right, Joe: that little rascal is<\/em> the smartest baby ever!\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss’s laughter nearly drowned out Ben\u2019s low words, but Juliet heard them anyway. \u201cSmart enough to keep his mother on her toes day and night.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

The temperature in the room seemed to drop at least ten degrees.<\/p>\n

Ben looked caught. He seemed to shrink a bit under his daughter-in-law\u2019s glare\u2014or maybe it just looked so, because Juliet straightened her back and lifted her chin, and with that she seemed to grow an inch or two.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t mean to criticise you, Juliet, but maybe some advice from an experienced\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Some might think you can\u2019t interrupt someone by drawing a breath, but Juliet proved that it was, indeed, possible. Never in the history of respiration had a breath carried more laboriously suppressed annoyance than the one Juliet heaved before she said, \u201cI thank you for your consideration, but I am adequately supplied with all needful information.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ben squared his shoulders. \u201cJuliet, dear, just let me share what I learnt from bringing up three sons. You are exhausted, and you needn\u2019t be. Your health isn\u2019t secondary to Henry\u2019s wellbeing. But as long as you jump into action at every little sound Henry makes, he will never learn to sleep through the night.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo what do you think I should do? Let him cry?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, yes. If you know he\u2019s fed and\u2026otherwise taken care of, then\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Beeton is quite adamant that one should not do such a thing. It would disturb the child who has no other way to communicate than crying.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Beeton?\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet tilted her head. \u201cMrs. Beeton, yes. She wrote in her book\u2014\u201d*<\/p>\n

\u201cYou depend on a book?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t see anything wrong with that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJuliet, not everything can be learned from a book. For some things you have to rely on experience. Raising children isn\u2019t like baking a cake.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, now is it not.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll I\u2019m saying is\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat I should let my child cry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom time to time, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you tell me that from your experience?\u201d<\/p>\n

If Ben had been more observant, he would have been alerted by her sudden change of tone. Adam would by now have prepared an honourable retreat, but, of course, Ben was less experienced in arguing with Juliet. Until now, he had carefully refrained from it; and had Juliet not become as edgy as she had over the last few weeks, she might even have realised that his present bold foray originated solely from honest concern.<\/p>\n

Juliet\u2019s tone wasn\u2019t scandalised anymore or indignant, it was\u2026warning and sly at the same time.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, yes. If I had\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo that\u2019s what you did to Adam.\u201d A statement, and a sentence.<\/p>\n

Ben blinked.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you wonder why he\u2019s so reluctant to admit it when he\u2019s not feeling well?\u201d She rose, as did the volume of her voice. \u201cWhen he has learnt from early on that no one cares for his needs anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked sick; maybe that was why Ben let her get away with it. Or maybe she\u2019d hit too close to home.<\/p>\n

Whichever it was, it still hung in the air of the great room when after an awkward breakfast Ben sat down at his desk, the sleeping infant in his bassinet close by, and Juliet excused herself rather stiffly to go outside for a desperately needed breath of fresh air. Breakfast hadn\u2019t seemed to agree much with her today.<\/p>\n

Joe was glad that he had had a perfect excuse to flee the uncomfortable atmosphere in the house as soon as the morning meal was over. Pa had just signed a contract with the army involving four dozen sturdy horses, all well broken; and since Adam wasn\u2019t at home, most of the breaking lasted on Joe. He\u2019d announced that he wanted to get a head start on it this morning, and had left the breakfast table quickly, while his sister-in-law was still sipping at the cup of tea that had been the only nourishment she\u2019d seemed to actually enjoy that morning.<\/p>\n

He stood in the dim barn revelling in its calm quiet while he fastened the chaps on his hips, then wiggled the leather until everything sat perfectly. He wondered what was eating at Juliet. She hadn\u2019t been that erratic and moody since\u2026well, at least since Henry had been born. But then Adam had left and\u2026 Well, he guessed that answered the question. He left the barn, thinking that it might help if he talked to her. Their little chat after she\u2019d bailed him out of jail a few weeks ago had been a real revelation, and maybe he could build on that.<\/p>\n

He got his chance earlier than expected, as he found Juliet standing on the front porch, white-faced and breathing heavily, holding on to one of the posts for dear life. It went without saying that she denied anything was wrong but insisted that she was fine, very fine. Briefly Joe asked himself if perhaps Juliet had been left crying too many times when she\u2019d been a baby, too, but very fortunately, he had just enough self-restraint to suppress the impending grin.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, Juliet,\u201d he started, boldly taking her hand. Which she didn\u2019t pull back. \u201cPa means well. I know you know that, too. You\u2019re tired, and he wants to make things easier for you. We all want to make things easier for you, if you\u2019d just let us. Maybe Hoss and I can…well, we can\u2019t do the things you<\/em> do\u2026\u201d Lord, what had he gotten himself into, Joe thought as he felt his face flush. At least his embarrassment brought a small smile onto Juliet\u2019s face. \u201cI mean, we could look after him when he\u2019s awake and wants to play, and then you could sleep for a spell, and, who knows, maybe you can even start writing again if we get him off your hands every now and then.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want to look after Henry so I can write?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, I\u2019d love to. I know how much you\u2019re pining to get back to your desk and deliver a broadside against\u2026well, anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n

She tilted her head and studied his face for a moment, then her small smile reached her eyes. \u201cYou know that I\u2026. You know that.\u201d She squeezed his hand, nodding more to herself than to him. \u201cJoseph, what do you\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTrying to steal yer brother\u2019s wife again, Cartwright?\u201d<\/p>\n

Their heads shot around towards the man who\u2019d so rudely interrupted them.<\/p>\n

Letting go of Joe\u2019s hand as if was wrong to hold it, Juliet asked, \u201cWho is that, Joe?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cColston,\u201d Joe spat. \u201cBilly-Bob Colston.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe man you walloped?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe man whose jaw he nearly broke, ma\u2019am,\u201d Billy-Bob offered, slightly slurred. He fumbled at his gun belt.<\/p>\n

Seeing Billy-Bob\u2019s hand hovering over his Colt, Joe became painfully aware that he<\/em> was unarmed. You don\u2019t put a gun belt on when you want to break a horse. He pushed Juliet to the right and carefully, never taking his eyes from Billy-Bob, moved to the left, step by step putting more distance between him and his sister-in-law, thus getting her out of the line of fire.<\/p>\n

\u201cBilly-Bob, I\u2019m sorry. I didn\u2019t mean to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t care whatcha meant to or not, Carwright. All I care for is that I ain\u2019t eaten nothin\u2019 solid in weeks, and that\u2019s fer sure botherin\u2019 me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe cringed. Really, he did understand Colton\u2019s misery. \u201cTell you what, Billy-Bob, I\u2019ll get Hop Sing to fix something real nice for you, something that makes you forget it\u2019s stew and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want no danged stew.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it then that you want, Mr. Colston?\u201d Juliet\u2019s words came unexpected, her clipped accent in sharp contrast to Colston\u2019s drawl.<\/p>\n

Billy-Bob blinked. He looked from Joe to Juliet and back. Slowly, with an unsteady hand, he produced his weapon.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow wait a minute, Billy-Bob\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you waita minute.\u201d Shakily he aimed the weapon at Joe. \u201cYou think you get away with smashin\u2019 ma jaw, jest because yer a Cartwright, but I\u2019ll teacha.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do think we will find an adult way to handle this, Mr. Colston,\u201d Juliet said taking a step forward that, to Joe\u2019s utmost horror, brought her back into the line of fire. \u201cAnd I assure you we won\u2019t need any arms for that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Before Joe could issue a warning, Juliet made another step up to Billy-Bob and pointed at his gun\u2014a gesture that could easily be misunderstood as reaching for it, especially by a man as nervous as Billy-Bob Colston.<\/p>\n

Sensing Billy-Bob\u2019s tiny movement more than he actually saw it, Joe instantly went into action. He darted towards Juliet and tackled her to the ground, covering her body with his even before the echo of the shot had died down. He\u2019d felt the impact of the bullet while still in motion, somewhere in his lower back, but the pain reached his consciousness only after a short, oddly disconnected moment of disorientation. What horrified him more than being hit, however, was the fact that his left hand had somehow come to rest on Juliet\u2019s breast. His last thought before the world shut down around him was that neither she nor Adam would ever forgive him that.<\/p>\n

__________
\nMy dear, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name. ~ Major Sullivan Ballou, in a letter to his wife (1861)<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

* Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household management features in The Art of Setting Priorities<\/a>, chapter 27.<\/p>\n

The words given were: moonshine, lunatic, interval, pining, secondary.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 8<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Out, Out Brief Candle<\/h3>\n

Ben smoothed the blanket covering his youngest son\u2019s body for the umpteenth time. As much as he wished otherwise, there was nothing more he could do. Nothing.<\/p>\n

He had been a father for\u2026how long? Thirty three years now, and this was the worst part of it: the times when you just had to sit and wait, sit and watch, sit and do absolutely nothing.<\/p>\n

He smoothed the blanket again, pulled it higher on Joe\u2019s chest. Maybe the blanket gave some comfort\u2014or maybe not. He pulled it back down. Joe looked hot, which\u2014according to the doctor and his own far too considerable experience in dealing with serious injuries\u2014was to be expected. Even though the bullet had miraculously missed any vital organs, it had done devastating damage on its way through Joe\u2019s body. The immense blood loss had made him cold with shock at first and then started a fever that rose slowly and steadily as the day went on.<\/p>\n

He took the wet cloth from Joe\u2019s forehead, soaked it in the basin on the nightstand, drained it carefully and placed it back. Well, there was something he could do, after all. As little as it was, as useless as it seemed, given the heat that radiated from his sick boy. He was rewarded with a low moan and an oh-so-small movement that pressed Joe\u2019s face just so into his father\u2019s touch. Ben allowed his hand to linger on the wet cloth for a moment, then let it slide down along Joe\u2019s burning cheek.<\/p>\n

\u201cShh,\u201d he cooed. \u201cIt\u2019s going to be all right. You<\/em> are going to be all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was no further reaction, but for once Ben was resigned to it. Joe needed to rest, the doctor had said, needed to build up strength\u2014and blood. Strength first, by sleeping, then blood, by\u2026Ben had forgotten. Beef broth, most probably, or any other fluids, as usual.<\/p>\n

Gingerly, he removed his hand from Joe\u2019s face\u2014let the boy sleep<\/em>\u2014and straightened his back. A sudden moment of vertigo took him by surprise, a feeling of nausea and complete weakness. Cradling his head in his hands, deliberately breathing in and out, it took him some time to get his body back under control. He needed to eat something. It was well into the afternoon, and he hadn\u2019t eaten anything since breakfast.<\/p>\n

Breakfast. What an unpleasant affair that had been, with Joe and Hoss being so awkwardly silent and Juliet sporting a nearly violently restrained expression\u2014and yet, in retrospect, he would gladly relive it again and again rather than go through the subsequent events one more time.<\/p>\n

He leaned back into his chair taking a deep breath, just as he\u2019d done when after breakfast he\u2019d sat down at his desk. He\u2019d found it difficult to concentrate on the contract lying before him. Hoss had felt the tension, too, had lingered in the great room, fiddling with his hat on the credenza first, then with the cushions on the settee, with a blanket on Adam\u2019s blue chair, and finally with the lace on Henry\u2019s Moses basket.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe didn\u2019t mean no harm, Pa,\u201d he\u2019d eventually started, but Ben had waved him off.<\/p>\n

He knew that Juliet hadn\u2019t meant to hurt him. She had just gone with the old proverb of offence being the best defence, and, in her impulsive way, had lashed out. Ben couldn\u2019t help but chuckle. At times, his daughter-in-law displayed an astonishing resemblance to Joe, even though he was sure she would deny that with all her might.<\/p>\n

It had hit him for the first time when Juliet had tried to placate him after Joe\u2019d confessed she had to bail him out of jail. He\u2019d sensed something was wrong even before he\u2019d seen Joe\u2019s injured hand when they\u2019d come home from Virginia City. The way Joe\u2019s head had hung, the way Juliet\u2019s shoulders had been rigid beyond her usual upright carriage.<\/p>\n

Joe had told his tale in a low voice, barely delivering more than the crucial facts. Ben had been livid: Joe should know better than starting bar brawls, and he had told his youngest that in unmistakable terms. Juliet had stood back, watching, listening; and only after Joe had retired, she\u2019d spoken to Ben.<\/p>\n

\u201cSometimes,\u201d she\u2019d said, and the unguarded misery in her eyes had told him she was not speaking solely about Joe, \u201csometimes your body does things your mind does not approve of. Sometimes you have no control\u2026no resistance to\u2026your emotions. Joe didn\u2019t think. He just\u2026felt, and did. He did wrong, there\u2019s no mistaking, but he didn\u2019t do it\u2026willingly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re not trying to tell me he\u2019s not responsible for his actions, are you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, of course not. He is<\/em> responsible, and he should have restrained himself, but\u2026we all are human, Ben. And pain\u2026hurt\u2026makes you weak and more likely to lose control.\u201d<\/p>\n

There had been something in her eyes\u2026and, oh, he had learnt to read her eyes, had learnt to catch the moment she let her shields down. Had learnt that the night they\u2019d kept vigil over an injured Adam after his duel with Langford Poole, when he\u2019d seen that endless love in her eyes\u2014and the vulnerability that came with it.<\/p>\n

This time, it was something akin to panic: fear mixed with hurt, and it had begged to come out.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that what happened to you in San Francisco?\u201d he had ventured, fully aware that Juliet most likely would stall again.<\/p>\n

But she\u2019d graced him with her trust. \u201cI\u2026I didn\u2019t intend to\u2014I would never do that, Ben. I\u2019m not a coward; I wouldn\u2019t steal myself away like that. I didn\u2019t want to hurt myself. I wanted to\u2026destroy, yes, destroy. I didn\u2019t think, I just gave in to\u2026misery\u2026pain? I don\u2019t know. I couldn\u2019t stand seeing me alone in that mirror, and my hands\u2026they just\u2026\u201d She\u2019d looked down, slowly removed her white gloves, exposing her wrists, her lower arms. She\u2019d traced the red scars with her fingers, nearly caressingly, then, suddenly, folded her arms over her chest. \u201cI was in a frenzy, realising what I was doing only when it was too late already. There was blood and pain\u2026and then I woke up in bed. Apparently Henry\u2019s cries had alerted the chamber maid.\u201d<\/p>\n

It hadn\u2019t been the first time he felt the desire just to take her in his arms, but the first time he\u2019d given in to that urge. She\u2019d surprised him by letting it happen, by burying her face in his shoulder. She hadn\u2019t cried, not that he\u2019d expected that from her anyway, but she\u2019d done something far more haunting: she\u2019d whispered, \u201cHe doesn\u2019t even know what he\u2019s doing to us. Why?\u201d and then, even more subdued, \u201cWhat have I done?\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe had been more explicit, later that night, when he\u2019d finally come to Ben and spoken his mind. \u201cWhy doesn\u2019t he care about us?\u201d he\u2019d said and then given Adam some less than flattering names. But all in all, it hadn\u2019t differed too much from what Ben had heard from Juliet.<\/p>\n

A soft sigh asked for Ben\u2019s attention. He bent forward, and hovering over his sleeping boy tried to read some kind of growing awareness in his still face.<\/p>\n

\u201cJoe?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet the boy rest, Ben,\u201d he was startled by Paul Martin\u2019s voice. \u201cI told you he would sleep for a while. Better let him wake on his own account. He needs to rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo build up strength, I know. I just thought\u2026\u201d Ben turned around to face the doctor who\u2019d entered the room unnoticed. He was met with a mug of coffee and a cheery smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s going to be all right. It could have been much worse, but Joe\u2019s a very lucky boy.\u201d The doctor forced Ben\u2019s hand around the mug. \u201cDrink this, and then eat something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Ben, I mean it. We both know that you won\u2019t sleep tonight, so have at least the sense to eat. Or soon you won\u2019t be able to supervise your son\u2019s each and every breath.\u201d Paul patted his shoulder. \u201cRelax, Ben. Keep Joe quiet, give him as much liquids as you can once he\u2019s awake, and watch out for any signs of infection\u2014that\u2019s the one threat we have to be wary of.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s already running a fever.\u201d<\/p>\n

Paul checked Joe\u2019s temperature with the back of his hand. \u201cNo, that\u2019s just the aftermath of the shock and the advancing evening. If the fever isn\u2019t down in the morning, then we can start being concerned, but we\u2019ll cross that bridge only if we\u2019ll get there.\u201d He stretched his back, then clapped his hands decisively. \u201cWell, I\u2019ll better be on the go before it gets dark. No need to see me out, Ben, I know the way.\u201d<\/p>\n

The doctor was already out of the room, when he turned back and added, \u201cJuliet should be all right in no time, too\u2014in case you\u2019ve wondered.\u201d<\/p>\n

He was gone before Ben could respond. Well, it might be better that way, since he didn\u2019t even know whether to be outraged about Paul\u2019s implied reprimand or ashamed for his tunnel view that had focused his attention solely on Joe.<\/p>\n

Well, his focus had been slightly off from the moment he and Hoss had heard the shot. No, he hadn\u2019t been able to concentrate even before that. He couldn\u2019t focus on breakfast, he couldn\u2019t focus on his desk work, couldn\u2019t focus on Hoss\u2019s attempt at consoling him. And then, while he\u2019d still struggled to explain to Hoss\u2014and himself\u2014why he was hurt, yet not hurt by Juliet\u2019s outburst, a shot and Juliet\u2019s choked-off cry of terror and pain had brought them to their feet.<\/p>\n

Ben would never comprehend why the first thing his eyes fell upon coming through the front door was Billy-Bob Colston, who stood next to the hitching rail, his face ghostly white, unspeakable horror in his bloodshot drinker\u2019s eyes, his arms hanging limply at his side. Then the revolver that dangled in his slack hand slipped down and hit the ground with a soft thud. Billy-Bob flinched and stammered, \u201cI ain\u2019t\u2026Lord, I didn\u2019t meant ta\u2026I didn\u2019t\u2026\u201d, and his vaguely waving hand at last drew Ben\u2019s attention to the messy heap at his feet.<\/p>\n

They lay where Joe apparently had tackled Juliet, he atop her, both of them deadly still. There was blood, huge amounts of blood, more of it still pulsing out of a small hole in Joe\u2019s lower side. It soaked his shirt, ran down his side in thick rivulets viciously glistening in the morning sun, formed large scarlet pools on Juliet\u2019s light blue summer dress, flowed onto the ground below them, where it was received by the dry earth.<\/p>\n

Hoss was busy carefully disentangling Joe from Juliet, mindful of his injury turning him over and to the side, thereby revealing the actual source of blood on Juliet\u2019s dress: a much larger exit wound on his front.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe doctor\u2014get the doctor!\u201d Ben bellowed to no one in particular, knowing that one of the ranch hands, who had hurried to the house from the nearby corral would be on his way to town in no time. They had brought down Billy-Bob already, but Ben didn\u2019t really care. Questions, accusations, reparations, all that could wait. For now the only important thing was Joe.<\/p>\n

Hoss had him in his arms then\u2014and Ben was torn. He should see to his daughter-in-law. Make sure she was all right. But there was Joe and he was pale and shaking, and Lord, there was so much blood and his son, his son<\/em> needed him\u2026needed him<\/em>\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cGive him to me,\u201d he croaked, and Hoss obeyed.<\/p>\n

As he\u2019d carried his precious load up the stairs and into Joe\u2019s bedroom, Ben had fleetingly thought that Juliet would be more comfortable with Hoss anyway.<\/p>\n

He sighed. Yes, she most certainly had been more comfortable with Hoss, but still, he had the feeling he\u2019d failed her. Would he have acted differently if they hadn\u2019t had that silly argument earlier?<\/p>\n

No, he wouldn\u2019t. Joe had needed his help more.<\/p>\n

But did he know that then?<\/p>\n

Ben buried his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes with his palms.<\/p>\n

It was completely useless to think about it any longer.<\/p>\n

\u201cBen?\u201d<\/p>\n

Well, speak of the devil.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m bringing stew.\u201d Juliet stood in the doorframe with a tray of food, hesitant and shyly smiling, as if she were afraid to come in.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not hungry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLiar.\u201d She snorted, then her smile widened into something genuine and she stepped into the room and set the tray on Joe\u2019s desk. \u201cYou must be starving.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was interesting to see how much easier Juliet could deal with defiance than with well-meant advice. But then again, how many people did he know who took well-meant advice gratefully? Especially when it was delivered unsolicited? Had he himself taken it gracefully when people offered unasked advice? Not always, no. Not when people had thought they knew better than he how to deal with his sons\u2026oh, well. Apparently this was a problem older than the mountains. Of course, Juliet\u2019s attack still wasn\u2019t what Ben would have called a respectful correction, but his daughter-in-law wasn\u2019t the most diplomatic person to begin with, and she surely wasn\u2019t at her very best right now, with Adam gone, and Henry\u2019s stressful nocturnal routine and her obvious indisposition.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere.\u201d She handed him a plate. \u201cEat it, while it\u2019s hot.\u201d<\/p>\n

The stew smelled delicious, and Ben belied his earlier words by digging into it with hearty appetite. He was already halfway through when he interrupted his meal to take a good look at Juliet.<\/p>\n

She had changed her soiled dress, had cleaned herself up and apparently even done something with her hair. But her hands were shaking slightly, and her face was white, the sickly pallor more pronounced than in the morning. She looked decidedly unwell.<\/p>\n

\u201cShouldn\u2019t you rest?\u201d Ben asked belatedly.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

Of course she was. She always was. Swaying on her feet she was, but she was fine.<\/p>\n

\u201cSit.\u201d<\/p>\n

He must have taken her off-guard, or maybe she actually felt as faint as she looked; whatever the reason, she sat down on the edge of Joe\u2019s bed\u2014a tad too carefully for Ben\u2019s liking.<\/p>\n

\u201cWere you injured?\u201d he inquired.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014Why, I\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWere you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot really.\u201d She pressed her lips together and looked\u2026embarrassed.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat does that mean: not really?\u201d He reached for her hand. \u201cWhat happened?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing. I\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t look fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, thank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJuliet<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

She sighed. \u201cThe bullet that went through Joe somehow grazed my side. It\u2019s nothing, really, just a scratch. It didn\u2019t even need to be stitched. The\u2026\u201d She looked down and continued in a very small voice. \u201cThe whale bone must have deflected it.\u201d She stared at her hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe whale\u2026? Oh. I see.\u201d Ben hemmed. His daughter-in-law had been rescued by her corset. No wonder she didn\u2019t want to talk about it.<\/p>\n

And then the strain of the past hours, the pent-up tension erupted in laughter. It started slowly, with a silent chuckle low down in Ben\u2019s stomach that worked its way through his body and up his throat until it came out of his mouth in an undignified snort that morphed into a fully grown belly laugh when Juliet looked up, scandalised, and then her indignant face dissolved into a display of pure mirth and she laughed with him.<\/p>\n

Through the following days, when Joe was writhing with fever and pain, and the demons his mind tricked him to believe were real denied his body its desperately needed rest, and\u2014again\u2014Ben was restricted to do nothing<\/em>, the memory of that shared laughter was the one thing that grounded Ben when he was tempted to give in to despair. The memory of a familiarity that would still need years to become something natural but perhaps had to be treasured even more just because of that, and\u2014Henry.<\/p>\n

Hoss and Juliet tried to relieve him from his vigil at Joe\u2019s side every now and then, not always successfully. Sometimes Juliet confined her efforts to just setting the baby on his grandfather\u2019s lap, and then Henry stretched his arms out to Ben trying to grab his nose or ears or just any part of his face, and that was nearly as refreshing as some hours of undisturbed sleep.<\/p>\n

Henry, who was the spitting image of his father at that age, who showed even the same facial expressions as Adam\u2014he also reminded Ben of Joe. He was sure Adam must have had some of Henry\u2019s eagerness to touch people, to take a hold of fingers, noses, hair, and to put everything into his mouth that couldn\u2019t be removed quickly enough; but he couldn\u2019t remember a single instance, and it seemed so much more like Joe anyway.<\/p>\n

He wasn\u2019t sure if Joe felt that way, too. He only knew that his youngest was a natural when it came to fooling around with the baby, and that Joe never seemed to tire of making funny faces or entertaining noises for his nephew. He loved to watch him and Henry, just as he\u2019d loved to watch Adam and Joe when Joe had been a baby. And as he had loved to watch Adam and Henry.<\/p>\n

The Lord\u2019s ways\u2026<\/em> In his weaker moments, Ben had feared he might never see Adam cuddling with Henry again. Never would it have occurred to him that Joe could be the one in danger. Goodness, Adam was the one jeopardising his life in war; Joe was supposed to be safe at home.<\/p>\n

Safe. <\/em> Safe from what? The war? The war had finally reached the Ponderosa, maybe long before Billy-Bob had come to take revenge for Joe\u2019s violent reaction to the man\u2019s unwise taunts. And now Joe could easily become the first casualty of war the family would have to mourn.<\/p>\n

No. Not his son, not Joe. Not\u2026not Joe<\/em>. Ben squeezed Joe\u2019s clammy hand between his, as if that was a way to transfer his own will into Joe\u2019s weakening body. \u201cYou will be all right, Son. Fight, Joe, fight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFight, Joe, fight.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n

Joe was floating. To him it seemed as if he\u2019d been floating forever, as if his whole life he\u2019d never done anything but float in that dark, haunted nowhere. At times he\u2019d come closer to the surface, at times sunken even deeper into the abysmal nothingness. And then there were times when the nothingness was populated with figures that were vaguely familiar and with complete strangers, with animals and monsters, with places of which he seemed to have recollections and places he was sure existed only here, with sounds and shrieks, with feelings of pain and fear, of rage and anxiety.<\/p>\n

Sometimes, when he\u2019d been close to above<\/em>, he\u2019d heard voices he thought had a meaning to him, but every time he\u2019d tried to reach out, to actually get in contact with what was outside of his confinement, something had pulled him back, some pain or fatigue\u2014or a face he knew he would see nowhere else.<\/p>\n

At first he\u2019d been tired, cold and tired, and everything around him had been silent and peaceful. Then he\u2019d felt he was burning, and there\u2019d been commotion, and agitated voices. A warm, calming presence, soft hands\u2014hands?\u2014on his face, \u201dShh, calm down, son\u201d<\/em> and then pain, searing pain in his side; his whole side had been on fire\u2014no his whole body.<\/p>\n

More voices, more hands. They had moved him. Didn\u2019t they know they hurt him? They didn\u2019t seem to care, they moved him and\u2014pain, hot, hot pain\u2014and tried to choke him with something startling cold in is mouth. And pain, pain, pain! Joe had then given in to the pull, to the voices that asked him to come down<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Down below, there was peace and war, all in one, or one after another, or nothing at all. It was confusing, terrifying\u2014but better than being above and in pain. The voices outside had become low and insignificant, and Joe stopped listening at all and let himself slip down deeper and deeper.<\/p>\n

The further he went, the better he felt. The pain vanished completely, as did the confusion; in the end, there was only a feeling of complete peace, and that grounded him, kept him there.<\/p>\n

Oh, and Adam, of course.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d seen Adam several times already, far away, a blurred image somehow awash in red. He\u2019d never really made it to him, had always been held back from going further by a voice from outside, by a person from closer to the surface or by his own fear. But now he was past fear; he moved on, steadily coming closer, making his way through the thick nothing until he was only an arm\u2019s length from his older brother.<\/p>\n

Adam wore an army coat that didn\u2019t really fit him and concealed his whole body. His face was gaunt, his expression haunted; his hands seemed to tremble. To Joe\u2019s utmost disappointment, he did not smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam!\u201d Joe cried, and he threw himself into his brother\u2019s arms\u2014only to hit empty air.<\/p>\n

Adam stood three steps back from where he\u2019d been a moment before, holding his hands up, palms out, in a defending gesture. \u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d he said, \u201cdon\u2019t touch me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe choked back a sob. He longed to hug him, but something in Adam\u2019s face held him still.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing here, Joe?\u201d Adam\u2019s voice sounded more tired than anything else. \u201cYou don\u2019t belong here. Go back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I don\u2019t want to go back. I want to be with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam laughed humourlessly. \u201cBelieve me, you don\u2019t want to be where I am right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere\u2026are you then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am where you\u2019re not supposed to be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. No but<\/em>. You can\u2019t be here, Joe. You have to go back, and quickly.\u201d Adam made a small movement as if he wanted to touch Joe after all, but flinched back. \u201cPa\u2026he needs you. Go back, Joe; be there for Pa.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFight, Joe, fight.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n

Joe looked around.<\/p>\n

\u201cListen to Pa, Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFight, Joe, fight.\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cAdam\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cListen to Pa. He\u2019ll guide you back.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s figure blurred at the outline, became translucent; and when Joe reached out to him once again, he dissolved into the blackness.<\/p>\n

Joe blinked, his eyes trying to penetrate the dark mist\u2014and then there was Pa\u2019s face above his. Tired, exhausted, smiling. Pa.<\/p>\n

\u201cWelcome to the land of the living, son,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Naturally, after that there was another frenzy. Joe was helped to have a drink, then Hoss and Juliet were summoned; little Henry in his mother\u2019s arm made a fuss and didn\u2019t take it very well that he wasn\u2019t allowed in Joe\u2019s bed, Hop Sing appeared with some broth, then the doctor came and with him some pain as he checked Joe\u2019s wounds before he declared him out of danger. All the time, Pa sat in the rocker next to Joe\u2019s bed, touching him whenever he could, making him drink water and herbal teas Hop Sing brewed for him, and saying very little, as if he didn\u2019t trust his voice.<\/p>\n

But words, Joe found, weren\u2019t necessary at all. Pa was there, he wouldn\u2019t allow nightmarish things to happen, and he most certainly wouldn\u2019t dissolve into nothing. And that was enough.<\/p>\n

Pa stayed with him through the next night, wiped his brow when the fever spiked again, held him when the darkness tried to lure Joe back, and Joe wondered if it really was Pa who needed him or rather he who needed Pa.<\/p>\n

In the morning, Juliet brought a tray with something that looked like oats in milk and a cup of tea. She put it on the bedside table, then gave Pa a look. \u201cYour<\/em> breakfast is downstairs,\u201d she said with royal air. \u201cHoss is already waiting for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pa opened his mouth, but Juliet lifted an eyebrow. \u201cPlease<\/em>,\u201d she then said, much softer.<\/p>\n

After Pa had checked Joe for fever and eventually left the room, Juliet handed Joe the bowl and a spoon, and took seat on the abandoned rocker.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you manage?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust dandy.\u201d Joe tasted a spoonful. \u201cOats. Couldn\u2019t Hop Sing find anything that\u2019s not horse fodder?\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet looked unimpressed. \u201cMiss Nightingale advises it for ill people. It\u2019s easy to stomach and still nourishing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMiss Nightingale.\u201d Joe lowered the bowl. \u201cYou haven\u2019t met Florence Nightingale, have you?\u201d<\/p>\n

She tsked. \u201cI read her book. It\u2019s a recognised treatise about nursing. Paul had recommended it to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s English, isn\u2019t she?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom where in England?\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet leaned back and crossed her arms. She gave Joe an eyebrow and an amused smile. \u201cDon\u2019t start a hare, Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t try to distract me. Eat your oats.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was worth the try,\u201d Joe grinned, then resigned himself to eat.<\/p>\n

Juliet watched him intently for a while, then said without preamble, \u201cIs it a special Cartwright trait to put other\u2019s lives above your own?\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe stared at her.<\/p>\n

She stared back.<\/p>\n

\u201cI couldn\u2019t let him shoot you, could I?\u201d he finally blurted.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut\u2026you could have died.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe grinned impishly. \u201cWell, I didn\u2019t plan to.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet gaped at him as if she\u2019d seen a ghost, then leaned her head on her hand. \u201cNow you even talk like Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n

He chuckled. \u201cNot the worst thing one could say to me. But honestly, I wasn\u2019t\u2026trying to sacrifice myself. I tried to get both you and me out of the line of fire.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, it seems that you weren\u2019t too successful with that, were you?\u201d Teasing. Two months before he would have taken it as an insult, now he had learnt it better.<\/p>\n

\u201cOne can only try\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI should have. I have. And I would do it again, anytime.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked at him, thinking, smiling. She nodded. \u201cYes. Thank you, Joe, for\u2026that<\/em>. I\u2014\u201d She looked down.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026would do anything in your power to protect me, too, right, sister<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her head shot up, she stared at him, surprised. \u201cYes,\u201d she then said in a small voice. \u201cThat I would. Brother<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was an uncomfortable pause, not really awkward, just\u2026slightly uncomfortable.<\/p>\n

Juliet reached blindly toward the desk behind her, until she got hold of a small booklet. \u201cShall I read you something?\u201d she asked, opening it. \u201cBeadle’s Dime Novels\u2026The Trail Hunters or Monovano, the Shawnee Spy<\/em>. This does sound quite\u2026nice<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

She sounded slightly sick, but that wasn\u2019t anything unusual lately; and Joe really, really wanted to hear her reading it. She was a good narrator, and anything would be better than continuing their earlier conversation anyway. Juliet seemed to think along the same lines, for she started to read at the slightest nod of Joe\u2019s head\u2014somewhere in the middle of the book, but Joe didn\u2019t mind: miraculously she\u2019d chanced on one of the most suspenseful parts.<\/p>\n

\u201cDucking his head downward, like a crouching animal, and trailing his rifle, he started upon a half-trot, and a half-walk. He had a keen eye, and followed the trail readily. He was very careful not to disturb it, but to keep to one side. The last wish of Jenkins was to encounter the Indian who, he believed, was thus leading him on. His long companionship with Dingle had given him much skill in tracking a foe; and he felt confident that his ignorance would not bring him into a collision. From the evidence of the different signs, he was satisfied that he was an hour or so only in the rear.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cThe pursuit was maintained with the persistency of the blood-hound, and soon resulted in another most important discovery\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJuliet.\u201d It was Hoss who interrupted her reading. He lingered in the door, gulping nervously, giving Joe the shortest glance, kneading his hands. He looked afraid. \u201cThere\u2019s a soldier downstairs,\u201d he said. \u201cHe wants to talk to ya.\u201d<\/p>\n

___________
\nIt is such a secret place, the land of tears.
\n~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u00a0The words given were guard, frenzy, hare, forward, and basket<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

Chapter 9<\/strong><\/strong><\/h3>\n

Promises Tried<\/h3>\n
\n

His name was Captain Hansen, and he\u2019d been sent to the Ponderosa to speak to Mrs. Cartwright; that was all they\u2019d been able to pry out of the soldier.<\/p>\n

Ben had sent Hoss upstairs, and then time stood awkwardly still while they waited for him to return with Juliet. Sweaty and dusty, Hansen\u2019s clothes told the story of days spent in the saddle and nights under the open sky on his \u201cvelvet couch\u201d of a bedroll. His unshaved face screamed for soap and water, his tired eyes asked for a place to rest his bones, and his dry lips seemed to beg for coffee\u2014or something stronger. And yet the man had refused Ben\u2019s kind offers to sit down, to accept nourishment, to refresh himself. He remained standing tall and upright, nearly at attention, his jaw set, his face unmoving, his look straight forward, fixed on the stairs.<\/p>\n

In a way, his posture reminded Ben of Juliet\u2014Juliet when she was hiding behind that wall of impeccable manners, Juliet when she was afraid, Juliet when she was stalling. A rather uncomfortable similarity.<\/p>\n

Then Juliet descended the stairs behind Hoss. Her face was a mask of composed politeness and mild interest, her posture graceful and sure, only a halting step now and then betrayed a sliver of discomfort. At the foot of the steps she enacted the Lady of the House with inbred ease: a short smile for their visitor, then a slight turn of her head to Ben and a lifted eyebrow in request of an introduction.<\/p>\n

Ben was about to oblige, but Hansen beat him to it. \u201cMa\u2019am,\u201d he said saluting. \u201cI\u2019m Captain Hansen. I\u2019m here by order of Major General Schurz.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve come from Gettysburg?\u201d She sounded surprised, curious, pleased.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, ma\u2019am, I\u2019m\u2026well, I\u2019m not authorised to tell you where I\u2019ve been. I\u2019m with the War Department. Secret mission, you understand?\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet took two steps forward and came to a halt behind the blue chair. She laid her hands on the backrest and drummed her fingers once.<\/p>\n

\u201cActually,\u201d she said, and her eyebrow rose. \u201cI do not understand. Surely Mist\u2014General<\/em> Schurz hasn\u2019t sent you here to tell us you\u2019re on a secret mission about which you cannot talk.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not.\u201d The captain shook his head for emphasis, but he didn\u2019t seem annoyed. \u201cGeneral Schurz sent me because he knew I’d pass near the Ponderosa in the course of my duties. I was his secretary before the war, and he trusted me to deliver\u2026a message.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA message, from General Schurz?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you did not come directly from the General?\u201d<\/p>\n

For the first time, the soldier averted his gaze from Juliet\u2019s eyes. \u201cNo. Major General Schurz sent me a telegram.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut\u2026\u201d She frowned. \u201cI\u2019m afraid, Captain, I don\u2019t quite see why General Schurz wouldn\u2019t have sent a telegram to me rather than you if he wanted to tell\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

She choked on the last word, blinked a few times in quick succession, then, pressing her lips together, stared at the soldier. For a short moment, Ben saw pure and unshielded panic in her eyes, a flicker of hope, then dread, and then her armour was back up, and she had herself under control again. She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin, braced herself.<\/p>\n

\u201cIf he wanted to tell me what?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

The captain shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable. \u201cMaybe you better take a seat, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ben felt a shiver running down his spine.<\/p>\n

Juliet\u2019s voice was imperious. She was scared, too. Shielding herself. \u201cI\u2019m very comfortable where I am, Captain.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, well, General Schurz didn\u2019t want you to get the news from the official announcements\u2026\u201d Hansen looked down at his feet. He grimaced, bit his lips, twisted his mouth, hunched his shoulders: there was nothing left of the military confidence he\u2019d shown earlier. He took a deep breath before looking up again into Juliet\u2019s face. \u201cMa\u2019am, it is to my deepest sorrow that I must inform you about your husband\u2019s demise.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demise.<\/em> Through the whooshing of blood in his ears, the rest of the captain\u2019s speech made it into Ben\u2019s numbing down brain only as fragments. \u201cSecond day of battle\u2026 mortally wounded\u2026field hospital\u2026gangrene \u2026never regained consciousness…\u201d<\/p>\n

His vision blurred.<\/p>\n

Mortally wounded<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Adam.<\/p>\n

His son, his child, his Adam\u2014dead. Fallen.<\/p>\n

Mortally wounded<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Then he willed away the blackness, and the rushing in his ears, until he was able to hear the complete silence that had fallen. He saw the room again, too; the same old room with the same old fireplace, the same old rug before it, the same old settee, the same old clock beside the door. Everything looked the same. But how did it dare to look the same, when everything was different now, when everything was without Adam<\/em> now? Everything\u2014and everyone.<\/p>\n

He gazed at Hoss, took in his big strong son\u2019s forlorn face, felt despair radiating from his unmoving form; and then forced himself to look at his daughter-in-law.<\/p>\n

Juliet still stood behind the blue chair, Adam\u2019s chair<\/em>, her long pale fingers still on the backrest. Ben saw how her grip had tightened, how her knuckles had turned white, how her perfectly manicured fingernails dug into the faded material. Her face did not betray any emotion.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you hear what I said, ma\u2019am?\u201d Captain Hansen asked carefully.<\/p>\n

\u201cI did.\u201d She gave him a small smile. \u201cIt was very considerate of General Schurz to send you, Captain, instead of a message. Please give him my thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nodded, absentmindedly. Ben saw her eyes roaming the room, then her gaze falling on her hands. She released her grip on the backrest immediately and clasped them together. It looked as if she wanted to break her own fingers.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat was the nature of my husband\u2019s wounds, Captain?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am sorry, ma\u2019am, the telegram didn\u2019t say it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid he suffer a lot?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2026don\u2019t think so, knowing he wasn\u2019t conscious.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWho was with him when he died?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere was he buried?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn the Gettysburg cemetery, I believe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs there a marker?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow that\u2019s quite enough, I think.\u201d Ben stepped between Captain Hansen and Juliet. As much as he thought her questions were reasonable, as much as he wanted them answered himself, he also knew this had to wait for another time, and he didn\u2019t like the detached and rapid delivery of her interrogation<\/p>\n

Juliet stared at him, and for the first time he discerned some emotion in her face: she was furious.<\/p>\n

\u201cI demand\u2014\u201d she started, but Ben interrupted her again.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot now. The captain has told us everything he knows, I believe.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her face went blank again. Then the faint smile reappeared. \u201cOh, yes, certainly. I do apologise.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s no need for that, ma\u2019am,\u201d Hansen said. \u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

That Hansen really understood her, Ben doubted. It had taken him the better part of two years to figure her out, and he was sure he had only scratched the tip of the iceberg.<\/p>\n

The captain took his leave soon afterwards, once again politely declining any food or refreshments, or a bed for the night. In fact, he seemed eager to get away from the tense atmosphere\u2014or perhaps he was just considerate enough to allow the family their privacy.<\/p>\n

Ben saw the captain out, and remained on the front porch for some time after Hansen had ridden away, watching a large cloud as it moved slowly over the sky. Oh, Elizabeth, he\u2019s with you now. Tell him\u2026<\/em> No, not\u2026not now. He couldn\u2019t\u2026couldn\u2019t\u2026just couldn\u2019t. There were no words right now. Not a single one.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t want to talk, he didn\u2019t want to think, he didn\u2019t want to\u2026he didn\u2019t want to go back into the great room, he didn\u2019t want to deal with her <\/em>right now. Not with her stony face, not with her clipped words, not with her impeccable politeness, not with her stiff upper lip.<\/p>\n

Not with her grief.<\/p>\n

Especially not with her grief. He was barely able to cope with his own, and then there was the rest of the family, and they all needed him, they all relied on him when he only wanted to close his eyes and scream his wordless terror out into the world.<\/p>\n

No, he didn\u2019t want to deal with Juliet now. He knew how it was to lose a spouse, oh, he knew about that. He knew how it hurt, he knew how it tore you apart, he knew how it left you numb and empty and void of…emotion. He shook his head. But all that was nothing, none, naught, nil…it was nothing at all compared to the hurt of losing a child. His son…<\/p>\n

He felt the scream working its way from the bottom of his stomach up to his throat. He bit his lips, knowing once he\u2019d let the roar out there wouldn\u2019t be an end to the all-consuming despair. He swallowed. Choked down the desperation; tears, cries, accusations, curses, sobs\u2014all in one big gulp.<\/p>\n

It seemed dealing with her would be easier than dealing with himself after all.<\/p>\n

He found Juliet still standing behind the fortress of the blue chair, smiling faintly and looking at a point somewhere about four inches before her face. Hoss had moved to the fireplace. His back faced the room, and Ben saw his shoulders twitching while he beat his tightly clenched hand on his thigh.<\/p>\n

Ben was torn about which of them needed him most. But the decision was taken from him when he made a step towards Juliet and reached out for her. Her eyes suddenly focused on him, her smile vanished, and she looked around in the room as if she just had been woken up from a bad dream. She lifted her chin imperiously, a gesture so familiar and yet so unsuitable and wrong, and heaved a deep breath.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me, gentlemen,\u201d she announced formally. \u201cI think I\u2019ll retire.\u201d She gave them a curt nod, then turned and stalked through the room and up the stairs, her posture straight, upright, and only a little bit stiffer than usual.<\/p>\n

Ben watched her pivot at the middle landing, not once turning her head to look back. He heard her steps, steady, even, firm; heard her open the door to her and Adam\u2019s room, her<\/em> room now, more steps, and then the closing of the door: silent, deliberate, soft.<\/p>\n

He wanted to follow her, but then there was Hoss\u2019s hand on his arm.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll go,\u201d he said hoarsely. His face was determined, and nearly as composed as Juliet\u2019s. Never had he looked so much like his older brother\u2014suddenly the resemblance was striking.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you sure?\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss nodded. \u201cBesides, someone has to tell Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe. Good Lord, he\u2019d forgotten\u2026<\/p>\n

They went upstairs side by side, and Ben took as much support from Hoss\u2019s presence as he hoped he gave his now oldest son. At Joe\u2019s bedroom door they parted; Hoss headed for the room at the end of the corridor, and Ben, taking a deep breath, stepped into his youngest\u2019s room.<\/p>\n

From the state his bed was in, Ben could tell Joe had tried and failed to get up. Several times, if Joe\u2019s flushed face and sweat-drenched nightshirt were an indication.<\/p>\n

\u201cPa?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ben swallowed. How am I supposed to tell him\u2026Lord, help me. <\/em>He sat down on Joe\u2019s bed, struggling. There still were no words\u2014would there ever be any?<\/p>\n

Joe reached a shaking hand out. \u201cAdam?\u201d Less than a whisper, pleading.<\/p>\n

All Ben could do was shake his head, and then open his arms and take Joe in as he threw himself at his father\u2019s chest; hold him, tight and secure, and not let go, not ever, never let go.<\/p>\n

And every fibre of him wished he could have done the same to Adam.<\/p>\n

At the other end of the corridor, Hoss still was standing in front of the closed door, breathing heavily in and out, in and out. Finally, he took heart and softly knocked at the door.<\/p>\n

No reaction. Well, he hadn\u2019t really expected one. But it wouldn\u2019t stop him. He knocked again. Just a tad louder.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d Her voice sounded clear and strong, even through the door. She meant it.<\/p>\n

\u201cJuliet, it\u2019s me. Hoss.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGo away.\u201d<\/p>\n

He bit his lip. He could just walk away. He could. But he wouldn\u2019t. Couldn\u2019t, actually. No pretence: she needed him, he needed her. And so he took another deep breath and just opened the door and invaded her domain.<\/p>\n

She was standing at the window, looking out while her hand was slowly rocking Henry\u2019s cradle. When she turned round, her face was still the same polite mask as before, her eyes still dry.<\/p>\n

\u201cI do believe I asked you to leave me alone.\u201d Her voice was void of impatience, of outrage, of indignation. She was merely stating a fact.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe hafta talk.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTalk? About what? There\u2019s nothing to talk about.\u201d Again, there was not a trace of anger, despite the harshness of her words.<\/p>\n

\u201cJuliet, you can\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe is dead,\u201d she said. \u201cDead.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss made a small choking noise.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe promised to try and come home. He promised, and I trusted him. And now he\u2019s dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked down, stood completely still, her eyes fixed on the floor. Even her breathing became so slow and shallow that for a moment Hoss thought she was dead, too.<\/p>\n

He closed the distance between them, and then, on sudden impulse, pulled her into an embrace. He held her to his chest, squeezed her nearly uncomfortably hard. Juliet didn\u2019t resist him, but she was stiff in his arms, tight and constricted. He softly caressed her back, trying to pull her closer, to break into her solitude\u2014but to no avail: she didn\u2019t respond, she remained rigid and distant.<\/p>\n

It hurt. It hurt him, and he was sure it hurt her, too. She was far away, in a place he couldn\u2019t reach her, in a place she didn\u2019t want to be reached. But he couldn\u2019t allow her that. Not now, when he needed her so much, and she needed something, someone…him<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Hoss slowly stroked up her back until his hand came to rest at the back of her head. With soft force and against her resistance, he pulled her head closer to his shoulder, heaved a deep shuddering breath, and then whispered softly, \u201cMylady?\u201d<\/p>\n

He felt her sobs more than heard them. She clung to him like a child, her face buried into his shoulder, her whole body finally pressed to his, boneless and heavy. And he held her tight, tighter than he ever had held a woman, ever dared to hold anyone, anchoring her and connecting her grief and his, and then he let go and wept, letting his tears flow as freely as she let hers.<\/p>\n

They stayed together until late that night, talking very little, just sitting closely taking comfort from each other\u2019s presence. He left her when Henry demanded to be nursed, and went to bed knowing she would be all right.<\/p>\n

It turned out he\u2019d been wrong.<\/p>\n

For the first time in weeks, he wasn\u2019t woken up earlier than intended by baby-cries the next morning. Instead, he was roused by his father, urgently shaking his shoulders and practically shouting at him, \u201cShe\u2019s gone!\u201d<\/p>\n

Yes, she was gone. She was gone, Henry was gone, some of their clothes were gone and\u2014as a quick survey of the barn revealed\u2014a buggy and a horse were gone, too.<\/p>\n

There was no note that could have placated their racing thoughts. There was no hint as to where she could be heading. There was no person they could think of Juliet would turn to.<\/p>\n

\u201cWidow Hawkins,\u201d Joe finally ventured a guess when they conferred in his room after their frantic, unsuccessful search for any clues Juliet might have left. \u201cWe all know how much she likes her.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pa shook his head. \u201cNo, she wouldn\u2019t have taken clothes with her.\u201d<\/p>\n

And she wouldn\u2019t have left the house without letting anyone know, Hoss thought. But then, maybe she\u2019d just forgotten that because she\u2019d been in a hurry, or because she\u2019d been too determined to get to wherever she wanted to go.<\/p>\n

Determined to get to…wherever\u2026. Hoss groaned. Oh Lord, now we got a real hair in the butter!<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cI know where she\u2019s going.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe made an incredulous face. \u201cOh, really? No one knows what\u2019s going on in that woman. She\u2019s plain cra\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou hobble your lip, Joe.\u201d Hoss\u2019s voice was like a whip cord. The words were his, but the tone was sheer Adam<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Joe looked up, surprised first, then guilty. \u201cSorry,\u201d he muttered.<\/p>\n

\u201cEnough, you two.\u201d Pa\u2019s scolding was mild, frighteningly mild. And for the first time since the blow<\/em> Hoss studied him closely: he had aged overnight, the lines in his face deeper than ever, a weary tiredness edged into his features.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou said you knew where Juliet might be?\u201d Even Pa\u2019s voice sounded older than before.<\/p>\n

Hoss nodded. \u201cYou heard her, Pa. She wants to know, she\u2026 She\u2019s gonna go to where she gets the answers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGettysburg.\u201d A painful whisper, admitting resigned agreement.<\/p>\n

Joe made a noise but, after a sharp glance from Hoss, kept his mouth shut. He was pulling a kite, though, but Hoss decided to let the snide grimace pass.<\/p>\n

\u201cHoss, you have to prevent that,\u201d Pa said. \u201cGo after her, and get her back. She can\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPa, you know there ain\u2019t no one keeping her from doing what she wants.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, but I can.\u201d Pa stood. \u201cI\u2019m going to the First International and freeze Adam\u2019s assets. She won\u2019t have the money to travel.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss stared at him. \u201cYou can\u2019t do that. It\u2019s hers now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly a small part of it. The most of it goes to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPa,\u201d Hoss interrupted. \u201cStop barkin\u2019 at a knot. You ain\u2019t wanta do that anyway, do ya?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was no answer, just a slumping in Pa\u2019s stance.<\/p>\n

\u201cTry as you might, Pa, you can\u2019t stop her if Juliet has put her mind to something.\u201d Hoss got up, put his hands on his father\u2019s shoulders and gently pushed him back down onto his chair. \u201cYou jest stay here with Joe. I\u2019ll go after Juliet.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you think you can stop her?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. But I can look after her. Keep her safe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo that. Do\u2026whatever you must. Just make her understand this is still her home. Bring her back.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss nodded. \u201cYessir. I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n

Yessir. I promise.<\/em> Hoss chewed on his words as he raced his horse to catch up with the stage coach Juliet had taken earlier that morning; the coach heading to Salt Lake City from where the trains went east.<\/p>\n

He had no idea how she would receive him, he had no idea what would be waiting for him on the way east; and, most important of all, he had no idea how to keep his promise, how to make her understand that Adam wasn\u2019t the only thing that had made her a Cartwright.<\/p>\n

___________
\nSo dear I love him, that with him all deaths I could endure, without him live no life.
\n~ John Milton, Paradise Lost<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

This chapter is dedicated to debpet. Part of it is a rewrite of a scene I posted two years ago, and debpet had repeatedly asked for the story “around that scene.” Oh Brother<\/em> was plotted out to fulfill that request.<\/p>\n

The prompts given this month were:<\/p>\n

barkin’ at a knot: doing something useless; wasting your time trying something impossible
\nhair in the butter: a delicate situation
\nhobble your lip: shut up
\npulling a kite: making a face
\nvelvet couch: a cowboy’s bedroll
\nor to incorporate the following plot element: your lead character’s assets are frozen<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The next story in the series, What Do You Tell Your Children?<\/a>, should best be read at this point. It’s short, so you might want to jump there and read it before you go to the next chapter of “Oh Brother”.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

–<\/a> Text Size<\/strong> +<\/a><\/div>\n
<\/form>\n
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Chapter 10<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Sky Blue<\/h3>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSimple Simon met a pieman
\nGoing to the fair;
\nSaid Simple Simon to the pieman,
\n\u2018Let me taste your ware.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u201cSaid the pieman to Simple Simon,
\n\u2018Show me first your penny.\u2019
\nSaid Simple Simon to the pieman,
\n\u2018Indeed I have not any.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

Saying the word \u201cany,\u201d Juliet tickled Henry\u2019s belly and the boy, who\u2019d anticipated this ever since his mother started reciting the nursery rhyme, answered with his usual delighted squeal. Hoss had been watching the repetition of this game for what felt like four thousand times over the past two weeks, but Henry did not cease to find it joyfully entertaining. He knew perfectly well at which point of the rhyme his mother\u2019s wiggling finger would attack; sometimes he giggled even before she touched him. He was five and a half months old now, sat unsupported, and listened to his mother\u2019s voice, gazing intently at her, his head cocked a little to one side, and his mouth ever-so slightly twisted into a half-smile, as if he was secretly amused about something only he saw or heard. He resembled Adam more and more every day.<\/p>\n

Hoss buttered two slices of bread. When he offered one to Juliet, he wasn\u2019t surprised when she declined with just a short shake of her head. Food and his sister-in-law didn\u2019t go together well in the mornings lately, and at some time during their journey east, she had just stopped even trying to eat before midday. He wasn\u2019t sure she\u2019d eat at all if he didn\u2019t push her to it. The long ride on the train hadn\u2019t done her any good; she looked even more peaked than she had those last few days at home. For all that travelling by rail was far more comfortable than riding on a stage coach\u2014with more space to sit, the chance to stand up and stretch your legs during the ride\u2014there still was a lot of jiggling, and the constant noise of the engine and the rumbling of the wheels on the tracks.<\/p>\n

Even though she\u2019d first admonished him for following her\u2014or \u201ctracking her down\u201d as she\u2019d put it\u2014Juliet\u2019s annoyance at his insistence on accompanying her had soon been replaced by gratitude. Plagued by headaches, nausea, and sleep deprivation, and challenged by Henry whose waking hours had gotten longer each day and who demanded almost constant attention, she\u2019d eventually broken down. She had not cried, not even after Hoss had pulled the blinds of their compartment to give her some privacy; but she had admitted she\u2019d reached the end of her strength\u2014and that she was with child again.<\/p>\n

He hadn\u2019t asked if she was sure. Her symptoms were familiar. It was incredibly close to Henry\u2019s birth, but hadn\u2019t Adam always told them to expect the unexpected with Juliet? Apparently that applied even to this.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know how I am supposed to do this alone,\u201d Juliet had said and stared out of the window at the landscape drifting by.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you are not alone. We\u2019re with you. We\u2026the family.\u201d<\/p>\n

She\u2019d smiled. Sadly, Hoss had noted, and it had made him sad, too. \u201cThat\u2019s not quite the same, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not.\u201d He\u2019d searched for the right words, only there were no right words. Maybe Adam would have found something bracing for her, but Hoss was sure even his well-spoken brother would have struggled and failed to find what Juliet really needed. No, that wasn\u2019t true. No one but Adam would be able to give her what she needed right now, because all she needed was<\/em> Adam. \u201cIt\u2019s better than nothing, though,\u201d Hoss had finally said. \u201cIt\u2019s better than being on your own.\u201d<\/p>\n

The look she\u2019d given him then had nearly broken his heart. Gratitude, hope, forlornness, longing, and pain, all in her eyes, almost scary in its intensity.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not Adam, but\u2014\u201d he\u2019d started, not quite sure where this would lead to but determined to heal the raw hurt she was radiating, to fix things like Adam would have fixed things, to make everything bearable for her\u2014and himself, too.<\/p>\n

Juliet had interrupted him by putting a finger on his lips\u2014a more than unexpected gesture from his demure sister-in-law, strangely intimate, but of completely chaste tenderness. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to be Adam,\u201d she\u2019d said. \u201cYou\u2019re Hoss; and that\u2019s\u2026all you need to be.\u201d<\/p>\n

For the rest of their journey they\u2019d talked about mundane things only, about what to do once they arrived at Gettysburg, about ordering food or coffee, about how to entertain Henry, about trains they\u2019d need to catch and things they\u2019d want to buy at their next stop. But something between them had changed: subtle little differences in the way they moved around each other, a new, easier and more open quality in their communication, and the mutual acceptance of each other\u2019s proximity. Hoss didn\u2019t hesitate anymore to take Juliet in his arms if he felt she needed that kind of support, and Juliet had more than once fallen asleep leaning against him with her head resting on his shoulder.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe went to catch a dickey bird,
\nAnd thought he could not fail,
\nBecause he’d got a little salt,
\nTo put upon his tail.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe went to take a bird’s nest,
\nT\u2019was built upon a bough;
\nThe branch gave way and Simon fell
\nInto a dirty slough.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet\u2019s fingers made tiny steps up Henry\u2019s arm, shoulder, neck and cheek to his nose, then slipped off and fell into his lap, tickling his belly as they went down. Henry giggled contently.<\/p>\n

Yes, Juliet still looked unwell. But after two nights in a proper bed, and in the soothing quietness of Mrs. Milward\u2019s boarding house in the middle of Gettysburg the overwhelming tiredness had left her eyes.<\/p>\n

Mrs. Milward was a blessing. Upon arriving after another seemingly endless ride on a stage coach from their last train stop to Gettysburg, they\u2019d come to realise that there were hardly any rooms to rent available. After three days of battle with thousands of casualties there had been more wounded soldiers to be tended to than the field hospitals had been able to manage. Consequently, both the Union army and the Confederates had confiscated farms, schools, public houses, parts of the Theological Seminary, nearly everything with an intact roof and transformed it to temporary hospitals. Only weeks after the battles, most of the sites were still occupied by convalescing soldiers\u2014even though both sides had already begun to transport seriously ill but stable patients to better equipped proper army hospitals in Chester, Pittsburgh, or Alexandria.<\/p>\n

Juliet had been determined to go and meet General Schurz immediately after arriving, heedless of the fact that she\u2019d thrown up three times on the ride, or that Henry\u2019d been screaming himself raw to protest the sticky, hot constriction of the coach cabin until, too exhausted to even sleep, he\u2019d just hung in his mother\u2019s arms, squirming and whining unceasingly. Hoss, who\u2019d been hot and tired himself, and on the verge of becoming impolite, had collected every ounce of remaining self control not to shake her when he\u2019d reasoned with her; that they needed to find a place to stay the night more urgently than to talk to the general\u2014and that it would be more likely she\u2019d get herself arrested than obtain any useful information by speaking to anyone in her present state of mind, if he’d read correctly the irritated twitch of her eyebrow.<\/p>\n

Juliet had tsked and looked annoyed and as if she\u2019d been composing a highly imperious, rebuking reply. Three weeks ago, Hoss would have had no other means to deal with that than letting it wash over him, ignoring her tone, and silently vowing never to provoke her again. But now he\u2019d squeezed her arm and said, \u201cplease\u201d and that he was tired and hungry\u2014and Juliet had given in. Just like that.<\/p>\n

By sheer luck, the second door he\u2019d knocked at was Mrs. Milward\u2019s. Mrs. Milward, who\u2019d lost her husband during the first weeks of the war, had two free rooms, a big open heart for small tired babies, and had provided them with a hearty, excellently cooked supper, a cradle for Henry she\u2019d acquired from the neighbour\u2019s house, and nearly motherly concern and sympathy and the offer to look after Henry if required once she\u2019d heard about their reason for coming to Gettysburg.<\/p>\n

The reason they\u2019d come to Gettysburg<\/em>. Hoss spread strawberry jam over yet another piece of buttered bread before he started eating it slowly. Very slowly. He was procrastinating, he knew that, but Juliet was doing the same. The way she savoured her tea\u2026she always took her time over that, but this morning she seemed determined to drink her tea cold. After having gone through all verses of \u201cSimple Simon\u201d she remembered or thought fit to be recited to Henry\u2019s tender ears, she now turned her attention to the baby\u2019s naked toes and jiggling one after the other declaimed,<\/p>\n

\u201cThis little piggy went to market,
\nThis little piggy stayed home.
\nThis little piggy had roast beef,
\nThis little piggy had none.
\nAnd this little piggy went
\nWee, wee, wee, all the way home.\u201d<\/p>\n

At \u201cwee, wee, wee\u201d her fingers ran up Henry\u2019s leg and leapt back to their old tickling spot on his belly. Screeching loudly, Henry went into raptures.<\/p>\n

The reason they were in Gettysburg: find out what happened to Adam, see his grave, speak to someone who\u2019d been with him in his last days on earth.<\/p>\n

It sounded easy, and accomplishing it had in fact been easy, much easier than they\u2019d anticipated. Much easier\u2026and much harder at the same time.<\/p>\n

The day before, they hadn\u2019t been let in to General Schurz, which, to Hoss\u2019s utmost surprise, Juliet had accepted without argument. They had been directed to the Gettysburg cemetery, though, and Hoss suspected that Juliet was more interested in going to Adam\u2019s last resting place than being confronted with\u2026well, anything else.<\/p>\n

The cemetery was huge. Row after row of freshly dug graves, all adorned with wooden crosses, some with names on them, some without. Newspapers had talked about more than 7,000 soldiers killed during the three days of battle, and, Good Lord, Hoss had started to believe it, to actually understand it while they\u2019d been walking through the endless alleys framed by earthen mounds. Line after line they\u2019d paced off in the scorching heat of the advancing midday, reading the names of men they didn\u2019t know, and yet each name had torn at their hearts, quieted their voices, made them walk closer together. Juliet had stopped once, to set an unlabelled cross straight and run her hand over the fresh soil underneath it murmuring something too soft for Hoss to discern any words.<\/p>\n

\u201cThose men,\u201d she\u2019d said upon getting up, making a wide gesture that included the whole grave field, \u201call have someone somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss had nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut they don\u2019t know they\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019d reached out for her. \u201cJuliet\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go find him,\u201d she\u2019d waved him off. \u201cJust\u2026find him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Find him.<\/em> It had taken them hours, but like Juliet, Hoss hadn\u2019t been willing to give in to the heat and the sun and the desolation of the place before they had found him. He had never seen his own mother\u2019s resting place, secretly always envied Joe for having a place to which he could address his grief, and he was determined to find such a place for grieving his big brother. Here. Although he felt sure he wouldn\u2019t come back to this place ever again, he\u2019d at least be able to carry a picture of it in his mind, a memory. Find him.<\/em><\/p>\n

Then they had found him. A dried-up flower had lain on the grave\u2019s soil, and that nearly had caused them to pass it by\u2014but the stone had caught their attention. Few graves had stones, very few graves, and Hoss suspected it would take years to bestow every one with a proper marker. But Adam did have one. A stone, and a withered flower.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam Cartwright,\u201d the inscription read. \u201cBrother not only in arms, 1830 \u2013 1863.\u201d<\/p>\n

If Hoss had thought this cemetery was the most sorrowful sight he\u2019d ever see, he\u2019d been wrong. It was his sister-in-law\u2019s blank, composed countenance that saddened him more than anything; her stony face that might have fooled him if not for the string of tears silently running down her cheeks.<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t remember how long they\u2019d stood there, staring at the incredible headstone, and the flower, and the soil: Adam\u2019s memorial. Hours, maybe, an eternity or two. Until \u201cAre you Mrs. Cartwright?\u201d had made them look the other way.<\/p>\n

A youngster, not older than Joe, but with the eyes of an old man. He\u2019d had flowers in his hand, some daisies, and he\u2019d looked at Juliet as if she was everything he\u2019d ever wanted to see.<\/p>\n

Hoss had stepped in front of her. \u201cWho wants to know that?\u201d<\/p>\n

But Juliet had shoved him out of the way and whispered, \u201cFritz? Fritz Boettcher?\u201d<\/p>\n

The boy had nodded; and before Hoss had a chance to ask, Juliet had pointed to the right to a nearly identical stone and said, \u201cHis brother lies there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fritz Boettcher.<\/em> Fritz Boettcher from Adam\u2019s letter.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou commissioned the stone, didn\u2019t you?\u201d Juliet had asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. I hope you don\u2019t mind. I didn\u2019t know\u2026\u201d He\u2019d looked down at his dusty boots. \u201cI just\u2026I wanted him to be remembered.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet had breathed heavily, but said nothing.<\/p>\n

Fritz had shuffled his feet, separated his bunch of flowers into two equally sized bundles and deposited one on either of the two graves he apparently visited every day. \u201cIt should be marble,\u201d he\u2019d eventually said, pointing at the plain fieldstone on Adam\u2019s grave. \u201cI owe him. Without Adam\u2026I\u2019d be court-martialled at least, maybe captured by the enemy, or killed. Most likely killed.\u201d<\/p>\n

And then he\u2019d told them how Adam had found him with his dead brother in his arms and how he\u2019d dragged him through the streets of Gettysburg, saving him from desertion, capture, enemy fire. How Adam had talked sense into him, and how he\u2019d found time in the middle of the storm to be a friend, a brother, a reassuring presence.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe didn\u2019t belong here,\u201d Fritz had said. \u201cAnd yet he needed to be here. His humanity\u2026it made a difference.\u201d He\u2019d looked into Juliet\u2019s face, nodded and then said it again, \u201cIt made a difference.\u201d<\/p>\n

Fritz had told them more, everything he knew. That the XI. Corps hadn\u2019t been involved in fighting much on the second day of the battle, but that Adam had been sent to General Ward to deliver a message from General Schurz\u2014and had never returned. That on further investigation it had turned out that Adam had been sent back with an answer, but hadn\u2019t made it back to Cemetery Ridge. That he\u2019d been found two days later, delirious with a festering wound in his right leg, and brought to the XI. Corps field hospital. And that Fritz couldn\u2019t forgive himself that he didn\u2019t find out all that until Adam had already died.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe nurse said he wouldn\u2019t have recognised me anyway, or that there\u2019d been a visitor at all\u2014but still\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019d arranged for Adam to be buried next to his brother Karl, and he\u2019d ordered a headstone just like Karl\u2019s to pay back at least something<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026wee, wee, wee, all the way home.\u201d That was not Juliet\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n

Hoss looked up from the crumbs of his breakfast on his plate to find that Juliet had handed Henry to Mrs. Milward and now looked expectantly at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cShall we?\u201d she said, and Hoss nodded. They should.<\/em><\/p>\n

Fritz had told them where to find the nurse who\u2019d been with Adam during his last days. The temporary field hospitals had mostly been taken down already, Nurse Maxine Tindell had moved with her patients to the Bushman farm\u2014and that was where they went.<\/p>\n

Nurse Maxine didn\u2019t have much time, but she sat down with them in a small room where the nurses could rest during night watches. It looked completely unused.<\/p>\n

She handed Juliet a letter with her name in Adam\u2019s bold script on it, but without an address. \u201cI wanted to find out where you live and send it once things slowed down a bit,\u201d the nurse said. \u201cHe had it in his pocket. \u2018Twas the only thing that told us who he was.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet stared at the folded paper she\u2019d put on the table, smoothed it down, ran her fingers over the letters of her name, then laid her hands flat upon it and looked up.<\/p>\n

\u201cHis comrade told me Adam was very ill and didn\u2019t\u2026\u201d She gazed at her hands, started to run them over the letter again. \u201cDidn\u2019t\u2026wasn\u2019t in his right mind.\u201d Now she folded her hands over the letter, clasping them tightly. She tore her eyes away from them, looking back at the nurse, and took a deep breath. \u201cDid he, did he\u2026\u201d She bit her lip.<\/p>\n

Hoss laid a hand over hers, caressing them with his thumb until he felt the tension ease. \u201cMa\u2019am,\u201d he took up where Juliet had broken off. \u201cDid he\u2026was he hurtin\u2019 much?\u201d<\/p>\n

Maxine gave them a small smile. \u201cHe was delirious. He was very unwell, but I don\u2019t think he really registered much. He was unconscious nearly all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet opened her mouth, then closed it again, and looked at Hoss, pleadingly.<\/p>\n

Hoss squeezed her hands. \u201cHe never woke up?\u201d he inquired.<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly once, nearly\u2026at the end.\u201d The nurse reached over to touch Juliet\u2019s arm. \u201cHe woke up, briefly, and looked at me with bright, clear eyes. He wanted to say something, something important. He seemed completely lucid, impossible as it was.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2026?\u201d Juliet\u2019s voice was nearly inaudible.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe tried to say your name, Mrs. Cartwright. I think he wanted to say that he\u2026you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet pressed a hand to her mouth.<\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am, I\u2019m so sorry. This must be incredibly hard\u2026but maybe\u2026maybe it gives you a little comfort to know that his last thoughts were of you.\u201d She patted Juliet\u2019s arm. \u201cHe loved you, ma\u2019am. He was a brave and handsome man, and he loved you.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was no reaction from Juliet, she just remained sitting there stock still with her eyes closed and her hand on her mouth.<\/p>\n

Hoss cleared his throat. \u201cMy brother said nothing more?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. He tried, but he couldn\u2019t.\u201d The nurse gave Juliet a sideways glance then looked back at Hoss. \u201cIt\u2019s really amazing, Mr. Cartwright. Your brother looked nothing like you. Only his eyes\u2026they were the same as yours, the same sky-blue.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re only half bro\u2014\u201d He broke off, dazed.<\/p>\n

\u201cBlue?\u201d Juliet leaned over the table. \u201cBlue eyes, you say? Not brown or greenish when the light\u2026\u201d She choked a sob. \u201cBlue. Dear Lord in heaven, blue.\u201d<\/p>\n

And then she burst into tears.<\/p>\n

___________
\nThe universe is wider than our views of it.
\n~ Henry David Thoreau<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u00a0The words given were: Simon, butter, cradle, leap, and blind; or to incorporate the following plot element: an unexpected illness or pregnancy hamper plans.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 11<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Perchance To Dream<\/h3>\n

There was smoke. Smoke so thick you could hardly see anything beyond the reach of your arm. Smoke so thick it even dulled the sound of the shots and shouts, swallowed the light flashes of gunfire, obscured friend and foe.<\/p>\n

Not that he would be able to distinguish friend and foe anyway. He never had been. Not once. Every time he dreamed this dream\u2014and, oh boy, he damned well knew that this was a dream, even though he suspected that it also was a recollection; and that was why he never did anything to flee the dream, to make himself wake up before he\u2019d seen everything his memory would release this time\u2014each time he dreamed it, he staggered around in that thick smoke, almost without sight or hearing, but with his feelings intensified to the point of being unbearable. For the only emotions he felt were dread and rage, and a devastating sense of being lost.<\/p>\n

Only when the smoke thinned from time to time did he make out other men, other soldiers. Some he shot at, some shot at him. Some yelled, some cried, some had faces void of\u2026anything<\/em>. Some were brown-haired, some were black-haired, some were blond. One was a redhead. Some had blue eyes, some brown, some green. Most men had beards, some had moustaches, none was clean shaven. Some were lithe, some were tall, one was a giant. One had black teeth. One was hay-blond with uncannily blue eyes that stared at him in wide-open shock as he sank his bayonet into the man\u2019s chest.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d the soldier asked him every time he was stabbed. \u201cWhat have I done to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

He never had an answer. Because you\u2019re my enemy<\/em> somehow wasn\u2019t enough to justify it\u2014especially when he didn\u2019t even know why this soldier was his enemy and what set him apart from a man he would call his friend.<\/p>\n

All the faces he saw, as different and individual as they appeared, were all faces of human beings, and there was no way to tell who belonged to whom. Oh, he knew who was fighting whom, but in his dreams he never saw if it was a Union soldier who fired his gun at him or a Confederate. All he saw were faces; not the one thing that would distinguish one side from the other: the uniforms. Even in his dreams he had to laugh about the absurdity of it, and even in his dreams he choked on that laugh.<\/p>\n

To make things completely frustrating, he couldn\u2019t even see his own uniform. Well, that wasn\u2019t entirely true. He could see what he was wearing, only it wasn\u2019t a uniform at all. He always wore black. Black pants, black shirt, black vest, sometimes a black jacket. Black, like death.<\/p>\n

He looked down at himself, just to check, with just a hint of hope that this time it would be different, that this time his mind would provide him with an answer\u2014but no. Instead, he found a new question, something he\u2019d never seen before: he was wearing a lumberjack shirt. He was still wondering about this completely new twist in his accustomed dream, when he felt the usual excruciating pain in his right leg: the tearing of skin, the shredding of muscle and flesh, the impact of a .54 Minie ball on his thigh bone. He stumbled, fell, dragged himself upright again. Keeping his weight on his good leg, using his rifle as a crutch he tried to get himself out of the line of fire\u2014but there wasn\u2019t a line of fire, only a web<\/em> of fire, and he felt bullets sizzling past him, tugging at his sleeve, pants leg, at his hair.<\/p>\n

A face swam into his sight\u2014black hair, black beard, brown eyes, no uniform discernable<\/em>, he recorded in that part of his brain that logged every bit of information that might be helpful\u2014shouting at him, though he couldn\u2019t make out any words. Supporting hands helped him to the pathetic cover of a bush amidst the firestorm, \u201cWill ya be all right, mate?\u201d and then he was on his own, trying to stem the flow of blood with his handkerchief\u2014how can there be so much blood when the bullet is still in?<\/em>\u2014trying to will the pain away, the panic and the feeling of having failed.<\/p>\n

He shrugged half out of his jacket, ripped a sleeve off his shirt, tore it into strips, and managed to improvise a makeshift bandage for his thigh with them and the wadded kerchief . I have to get out of here, have to\u2014Lord, what?<\/em> There was something he had to do, he knew that. But what?<\/p>\n

He slipped his jacket back into place and tried to get up. Tried to get on hands and knees\u2014well, one<\/em> knee mostly, for his right leg wasn\u2019t able to carry much weight\u2014by sheer force of will succeeded in it, panting, sweating. He remained like that for a few heavy breaths, revelling in this accomplishment. He\u2019d never managed to get that far before, in none of the previous dreams, and he knew he had to push on: for all answers lay here, somewhere.<\/p>\n

Carefully pulling his left leg under him, ignoring the renewed pain in his right, he slowly pushed himself from the ground. The part of his brain that was not busy fighting to provide him with at least some sort of equilibrium pointed out how very unwise his actions were, but another voice in his head said to ignore reason and just get on with it, a voice sounding strikingly like Joe\u2014Joe? Who\u2019s Joe? I have to follow that thought, have to, have to\u2026cannot forget\u2026have to remember\u2026 <\/em> But there wasn\u2019t time for that now, he had to concentrate on getting up, getting up<\/em>.<\/p>\n

And he got up. Slowly, painfully, always on the verge of collapsing back to the ground; but he got up. His body seemed to have taken the hint that he would not give in to any kind of agony, seemed to recognise his determination to be stronger than his injuries. He\u2019d done that before, he was sure, and his body apparently remembered it, too.<\/p>\n

He stood. Swaying unsteadily, his vision even more blurred than before, a buzzing in his ears that drowned out the already muted sounds of battle, a slight nausea adding to his discomfort, he stood. Triumphantly.<\/p>\n

Now he only had to\u2014had to\u2014had to get to\u2014had to\u2026<\/p>\n

And then he remembered. He had to convey a message, a message to\u2026someone. He snorted. It didn\u2019t really matter to whom he had to convey a message when there was no way he would get there anyway, did it?<\/p>\n

\u201cSergeant?\u201d Another blurry voice, another soldier he didn\u2019t recognise just now, another face he had to file away to be named later. \u201cDo ya need help?\u201d<\/p>\n

There it was: the way to not fail his mission. He reached into his jacket, pulled out the folded papers he\u2019d been assigned to deliver and thrust it into his comrade\u2019s hand. \u201cHere, bring that to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

And then there was a giant bang, a blow to his head, and the world exploded in a blinding white light before it was completely gone.<\/p>\n

The first thing he noticed when his awareness returned was pain. Agonising pain, stabbing through his body with the force of a bayonet and yet a welcome reminder that he still was alive. He tried to move, tried to sit up, wipe off whatever sticky mass was crusting on his face, but his body screamed in protest, and even though he tried to ignore its cries he was unable to lift a single finger.<\/p>\n

He stared into the darkness, listened to the eerie quiet, and tried to comprehend what had happened. He\u2019d been wounded and apparently left for dead\u2026No, that can\u2019t be.<\/em> Could it? No.<\/em> Certainly he\u2019d just have to wait. Someone would come looking for wounded soldiers. He would be found and brought into a field hospital. Sooner or later he would. Would he not? As the night went on he drifted in and out of consciousness, never strong enough to move but always alert, listening, hoping, waiting for rescue.<\/p>\n

But rescue never came. Instead there came predators. Insects, rodents, a fox. Whispering humans, rummaging through the pockets of the dead, pulling boots off unresisting feet, pants from slack legs, jackets from limp bodies. They took away his clothes, too, and to his utmost disgust he wasn\u2019t able to put up any resistance. He wanted to tell them he still was alive, but his voice was as frozen as the rest of his body. All he was capable of was raging inside his head, trying to break his paralysis, trying to move a hand, a feet, any limb, just move\u2026something<\/em>; say something, groan, moan, whimper, move, make a noise, move, move, move, or scream, scream. <\/em><\/p>\n

At last he screamed, screamed aloud. It was hot, he<\/em> was hot, why was he suddenly so hot when he should be freezing without his clothes? And why were they still going away, not realising he was alive and screaming, screaming!<\/em> But they left him alone, dying out there alone; they didn\u2019t notice, didn\u2019t care, didn\u2019t hear\u2026how could they not hear him? How could they not see him move, frantically, thrashing out despite the pain, despite the feeling of tearing himself open\u2014how could they not hear him crying, \u201cDon\u2019t go!\u201d<\/p>\n

There were hands suddenly, strong hands holding him down, soft, cold hands stroking his hot face.<\/p>\n

\u201cShh,\u201d said a quiet voice. \u201cShh, calm down. It\u2019s a nightmare, that\u2019s all. Just another nightmare. Wake up.\u201d<\/p>\n

The voice, her<\/em> voice. His anchor, the one thing that grounded him, the one thing that pulled him back into the here and now when he got lost too deep in his dreams.<\/p>\n

A bed. He was lying in a soft bed, not on the hard ground out there<\/em>, and he wasn\u2019t alone, wasn\u2019t abandoned. She was here. She: familiar, warm, friendly, his\u2026his.<\/em> Opening his eyes was a hard labour, but he was rewarded with her familiar features, and that was worth the too bright light of here<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m all right,\u201d he rasped.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, you\u2019re not. You nearly pulled open your stitches once again.\u201d She shook her head, but smiled. \u201cAnd we can\u2019t have that, now you\u2019re finally on the mend, can we?\u201d<\/p>\n

She adjusted the blanket over his still heaving chest, wiped the sweat from his face, supported his head while she held a glass of cool water to his lips, did all the things a good nurse was supposed to do. But as usual, she also stroked his chest as she smoothed the bedcover, her hand lingered a second on his face as she washed it, and her fingers fondled his nape as she held his head.<\/p>\n

He leaned into her touch, secretly kissed her palm, whispered her name like an endearment, \u201cBernadette.\u201d Her face was connected with a name, and that alone made it beautiful beyond measure.<\/p>\n

She\u2019d been with him from the moment he\u2019d woken up in this hospital, had been with him even before, ever since he\u2019d been brought into a field hospital, delirious, half dead. Being senseless for most of it, he didn\u2019t remember his time there, but he\u2019d been told how Bernadette had fought to keep him alive, how she\u2019d managed to nurse him into a stable condition, how she\u2019d arranged to put him on a transport to Charlottesville for better treatment, and how she\u2019d managed to be appointed to join the transport. She\u2019d certainly saved his leg, if not his life\u2014and all that for a soldier without a name.<\/p>\n

A soldier who didn\u2019t even remember which side he belonged to.<\/p>\n

But that didn\u2019t seem important to her at all. First and foremost, she\u2019d told him, she was a nurse, and a woman. And being Canadian, North and South didn\u2019t matter for her anyway.<\/p>\n

Canadian.<\/em> He chuckled.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s so funny?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing, I just\u2026. You don\u2019t think I\u2019m a woodcutter, do you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA lumberjack? You certainly have the build for that\u2026\u201d Her eyes laughed. \u201cBut not the hands. What makes you think you are one?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust something in my dream.\u201d He inspected his hands. Calloused, yes, but she was right: not as calloused as a logger\u2019s hands would be.<\/p>\n

\u201cWere there any other clues? A name, by any chance? I would love be able to call you by your name.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shook his head. \u201cNo, sorry. But I told you, you can just give me a name you\u2019d like to call me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d have to name you \u2018Babe\u2019 then\u2014because you were lost as a babe in the woods.\u201d She sniggered at his scandalised look. \u201cBut I won\u2019t, don\u2019t worry. I\u2019d rather wait until you remember your real name\u2014and then replace it with sweet nonsense.\u201d<\/p>\n

His real name. Perhaps it was the name from his dream\u2026Joe<\/em>. No, he didn\u2019t think so. The name did seem important, though. There must be a Joe in his life. Joe\u2026a friend? A comrade? His brother, uncle, father, son?<\/p>\n

A son. Did he have a son? And if he had a son, did he have a wife, too? It couldn\u2019t be, could it? If he had a wife, would being touched by Bernadette feel so right?<\/p>\n

If he had a wife, wouldn\u2019t he remember it? Her?<\/em> But then again, he didn\u2019t even remember his name\u2026.<\/p>\n

Pressure built up behind his eyes; the sleeping pain at his temples that never left him completely slowly woke up, intensifying, foreboding the well-known throbbing agony.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI…yes. I\u2019m\u2026\u201d No, he wasn\u2019t. His head ached, he was hot, breaking into a sweat, feeling like suffocating, his chest suddenly too tight to breath. \u201cLethe\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLethe\u2026the river\u2026I don\u2019t\u2026\u201d He would have laughed if he\u2019d found the air for it in his lungs. He could remember the name of the river of oblivion in the Greek legends, but not his own. Pathetic.<\/em><\/p>\n

Cool hands on his face, shockingly cold, like ice. But Lethe never freezes\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cGod, you\u2019re burning up!\u201d<\/p>\n

The river wasn\u2019t freezing, couldn\u2019t be, but most probably it was cold, and the air wouldn\u2019t be so thick down there, breathing surely would be easier at the river banks. \u201cLethe\u2026gotta\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShh, drink this, it\u2019ll help you cool down.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lethe, so cool, refreshing.<\/em> He drank greedily, spilling cold water over his face, his chest, the pillow, the blanket\u2026. Drank, drank, drank from the ancient river, greedily\u2014and guiltily accepting forgetfulness where he knew he should seek remembrance, until dark oblivion claimed him and pulled him down to drown in nothingness.<\/p>\n

___________
\nAnd, if you cannot remember it, think, now, how you drank Lethe\u2019s water today: and if fire is deduced from smoke, this forgetfulness clearly proves the guiltiness of your desire, intent on other things.
\n~ Dante Alighieri, Divine Comedy<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

The words given were: giant, lumberjack, babe, logging, and legend.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 12<\/strong><\/h3>\n

The Lord Giveth<\/h3>\n

\u201cMISTAKEN IDENTITY STOP ADAM DECLARED MISSING STOP ARE SEARCHING HOSPITALS STOP WILL FIND HIM STOP FAITHFULLY JULIET\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you reading that telegram again?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ben looked up from the sheet of paper, his most precious possession, to watch his youngest son descending from the second floor. Joe looked much better this morning; and although his way down the stairs still looked laboured and so distinctively less fluid than his usual gait, it filled Ben with gratitude and delight to see him do it unaided. Until three days ago, Joe had had to be assisted to get down\u2014always being in danger of misstepping, twisting, stumbling against something, aggravating his freshly not-quite-yet-healed wound.<\/p>\n

It seemed too early for Joe to be up, too soon. But, of course, after the recurring fevers had finally subsided and Joe had regained his strength and been alert\u2014and bored\u2014for whole days, nothing short of being strapped down on the bed would have kept him in it any longer, as much as Ben would have preferred him resting securely just there. And then his attempts at exerting fatherly authority at that had been thwarted by Doctor Martin, who\u2019d declared Joe mended enough to be up and about\u2014albeit not to be strained with any strenuous work whatsoever, and ordered to take it perfectly easy.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo riding, no lifting anything, no crouching, no walking far, no jumping onto anything,\u201d Paul had said and given Joe his best \u2018follow the doctor\u2019s orders\u2014or else\u2019 stare.<\/p>\n

Joe had looked a bit abashed, and sulked, \u201cThat sure doesn\u2019t leave much to do, does it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Dr. Martin had said cheerfully. \u201cNext to resting on the sofa and eating three hearty meals a day\u2014no. That\u2019s the point of taking it absolutely easy, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut nothing. Either take it easy, Joe, or go back to bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe had chosen to take it easy, and although Ben and Hop Sing had to remind him of that at least four times a day, he actually resigned himself to resting on the sofa, reading dime novels or repairing bridles and field-stripping and cleaning every single gun and rifle they owned.<\/p>\n

Ben forced himself to stay seated as Joe made his arduous way to the settee and eased himself slowly and stiffly down. Stuffing a pillow behind his back, Joe gestured at the paper in Ben\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe words won\u2019t just go away if you don\u2019t read them for a minute,\u201d he said with a small grin. \u201cAnd they won\u2019t change their meaning, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Ben said. \u201cCertainly not. And even if they disappeared, I know them by heart already. It\u2019s just…\u201d He looked down, couldn\u2019t help but read the words yet again, smiled, and laid the paper on his desk. Neatly, within easy reach, within reading distance, just in case he\u2019d need to assure himself again that, indeed, he wasn\u2019t dreaming. That, indeed, Adam could be alive\u2014was alive. Was. Lord, don\u2019t take him from me again, I couldn\u2019t…Lord, please!<\/em><\/p>\n

He gave the telegram another glance. \u201cMISTAKEN IDENTITY STOP ADAM DECLARED MISSING STOP SEARCHING HOSPITALS STOP WILL FIND HIM STOP FAITHFULLY JULIET\u201d<\/p>\n

The words were easy to memorise, the telegram almost brisk in its curtness. It was so very much like Juliet in its precise efficiency. He had learned enough about his daughter-in-law to know that what sounded like cool aloofness was restraint. Her emotions weren\u2019t put into flowery digression; they could be read out of her determined words, her clearly conveyed conviction: \u201cWILL FIND HIM.\u201d Yes, he could read the turmoil behind those words.<\/p>\n

\u201cI wonder why Juliet sent the telegram,\u201d Joe interrupted his thoughts\u2014as if he\u2019d read them. \u201cAll the others were from Hoss.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMISTAKEN IDENTITY STOP ADAM DECLARED MISSING\u201d Ben just couldn\u2019t stop himself reading. \u201cThat\u2019s because Hoss wouldn\u2019t have send one at all,\u201d he said, stroking his chin.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ben rested his elbows on the desk and leaned his head on his clasped hands. Hoss had sent half a dozen telegrams over the past few weeks. First to tell them that he\u2019d caught up with Juliet, then to say that they were about to take a train east, that there was no way he could hold Juliet back from her quest, that they were well underway, that they\u2019d reached Gettysburg, that they\u2019d found Adam\u2019s grave. They had noticed that Hoss had tried to keep them short, but had failed heartbreakingly. His soulful bulletins of the search had enabled Ben and Joe to accompany his and Juliet\u2019s slow journey through grief and despair into something beyond friendship and kinship.<\/p>\n

But Hoss would never have written this telegram. Ben was sure he and Juliet must have had a disagreement about it, must have fought and argued until Juliet\u2019s obstinacy had won. For the first time, Ben was glad his daughter-in-law was stubborn as a mule and bossy as a goat.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe wouldn\u2019t want to get our hopes too high,\u201d Ben eventually answered Joe\u2019s question. \u201cHe wouldn\u2019t want us to be hurt a second time if they\u2026failed.\u201d It hurt even to think of it. Perhaps Hoss should have won the argument after all. And yet\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you want to tell me Juliet wouldn\u2019t mind hurting us?\u201d Joe sounded incredulous.<\/p>\n

It made Ben smile. Before this summer, Joe would have been outraged, appalled, readily believing his sister-in-law thoughtless of the family\u2019s feelings, no, not thoughtless\u2014detached<\/em> from them. Now he was more forgiving, willing to search for what was hidden beneath her seeming imperturbability. Like Adam, Juliet wasn\u2019t prone to great displays of affection, but Joe\u2014well, they all\u2014had learned that reading her small signs of attachment was well worth the effort. And Juliet had learned to open up to them a bit, to trust them.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course not,\u201d Ben said. \u201cBut I think she feels we have a right to know what\u2019s going on, and that hope is better than despair. She\u2019d be furious if we knew something and didn\u2019t tell her\u2014and just like everyone she assumes all people are like her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d be furious, too, if she hadn\u2019t told us, and I\u2019d found out later. I don\u2019t know if all people are like that, but I sure am.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ben could not fully conceal the grin. He had a hard time preventing himself from pointing out yet another similarity between the two. Joe was only just on the mend, and it wouldn\u2019t do him any good to get worked up over that.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I prefer being informed, too. Even though I\u2019m aware that knowing\u2014and hoping\u2014could come with a heavy price if the news turned out to be\u2026not what we hoped it to be. The truth, Joe, is never too expensive.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPa, do you think\u2026\u201d Joe wrung his hands. He wrung his hands!<\/em> His features showed hope and misery, all mixed together on his still too pale face. As if he were six again, and asking his father if Maman<\/em> would come home tonight, just once, just so he could properly bid her farewell, secretly knowing she wouldn\u2019t. Couldn\u2019t<\/em>.<\/p>\n

He hadn\u2019t been able to give him any hope back then, and it had broken his heart. This time, though, he had something to offer. Not much, nothing substantial, just something seemingly small and fragile\u2014and yet it had the power to carry them both through and beyond. \u201cDum spiro, spero<\/em>,\u201d he said. \u201cAs long as I breathe I shall hope. That\u2019s what we can do: have faith. Faith that Adam is alive and that they will find him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf only I could help\u2014if only Billy-Bob hadn\u2019t had it in his mind to come and\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo come and what?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHonest, Pa? I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJoe, you have to make up your mind about that. The sheriff is waiting for your final testimony. Roy can\u2019t keep Billy-Bob in jail forever. He has to face trial or be released, Joe. And it\u2019s solely up to you whether it\u2019s one or the other. Since Juliet isn\u2019t available, you\u2019re the only witness.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know, but still\u2026I don\u2019t know what\u2019s right. I don\u2019t know how to\u2026judge things.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLord, no. It\u2019s not yours to judge<\/em>, Joe. You only have to remember what happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I don\u2019t know what happened!\u201d Joe leapt up and made a few hurried steps towards the front door, stopped in mid-stride and, clutching his healing side, returned to the settee.<\/p>\n

Ben wasn\u2019t sure if the agony visible on his face came from the aggravation of his injury or from the painful realisation that he couldn\u2019t delay this grave decision any longer.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t remember what happened,\u201d he tried. \u201cOr you don\u2019t know how to deal with it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI remember what happened; I\u2019m not a fool,\u201d Joe snapped, but then looked down at his hands. \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, what exactly did happen?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBilly-Bob\u2026he suddenly was there. He said he wasn\u2019t happy with me breaking his jaw, and that he couldn\u2019t eat anything solid; and then he rambled about the high and mighty Cartwrights and drew his gun, and Juliet said we didn\u2019t need no weapons. She took a step toward him, and then he shot at her. I tried to get her outta the line of fire\u2014and then I was hit.\u201d It sounded almost bored, as if he\u2019d rehearsed his speech many times in his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe point is, Joe, do you think Billy-Bob came to the Ponderosa to take vengeance? Did he come to kill you? Or was it, as he claims, an accident?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought I wasn\u2019t supposed to judge?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ben smiled. \u201cWell, perhaps you\u2019ll have to do a little judging after all. Juliet said Billy-Bob was drunk, and that he seemed scared of his own shadow. Is that right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe sure looked like a rabbit in front of a snake. He wanted to\u2026maybe he just wanted to salvage his honour or something. He got the weapon out only when he realised it was two against one. Well, one was Juliet, but drunk as he was\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd he actually shot because\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause Juliet pointed at the gun. She was\u2026well, you know how she waves her hands when she talks. She indicated the gun, made a step into Billy-Bob\u2019s direction\u2014and then he shot. He must have thought she was going for the gun.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe thought Juliet<\/em> was trying to disarm him? A woman?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was drunk. And Juliet is tall, and she was talking in that clipped accent of hers. She can<\/em> be kinda scary, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt certainly fits the way he acted after the shot.\u201d Ben frowned as he recalled things beside the red stains on Joe\u2019s jacket. \u201cHe was white with consternation, didn\u2019t even try and run or fight. He was\u2026horrified by what he\u2019d done.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think he\u2019s innocent?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you<\/em> think he is?\u201d<\/p>\n

Again, there was that look of agony on Joe\u2019s face. \u201cPa, I can\u2019t\u2026I don\u2019t know what\u2026If I press charges Billy-Bob could go to jail for years. He\u2019s not\u2026not a criminal. He won\u2019t do it again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou mean he should be free? Facing no consequences?\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe studied the cloth on the table in front of him. He rocked forth and back on the settee, rubbing his injured side. \u201cIt would set a bad example, wouldn\u2019t it?\u201d He looked up, obviously searching for an answer in his father\u2019s face. \u201cOthers could be inclined to think they\u2019d get away with…things, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ben\u2019s face remained impassive. He wouldn\u2019t provide an answer, not this time.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut still, Billy-Bob isn\u2019t a bad guy, and I hurt him first\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cQuite the predicament, it seems.\u201d Neutral, stay neutral.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cHoss would\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Ben shook his head. \u201cNot Hoss\u2014Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe stared at him for a moment, then closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again. \u201cAdam would say \u2018let the law handle it.\u2019 He would press charges and then go to any length to prove that Billy-Bob didn\u2019t want to hurt anyone. That it was an accident.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not Adam who has to make a decision, Joe. It\u2019s you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut Adam would be right, Pa. And\u2026and if he were here, I\u2019d ask him, and then do what he\u2019d said.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you always do what your brother says, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe didn\u2019t flinch, nor did he avert his eyes from his father\u2019s. \u201cI will, if he comes back,\u201d he said, and it sounded like a vow. Or like a proposition.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll make sure to remind you of that,\u201d Ben chuckled, ignoring the chill trickling down his spine. When<\/em>, he thought, it should be when, not if.<\/em><\/p>\n

Again, he must not have guarded his thoughts as well as he\u2019d hoped. But then Joe had always been able to read his eyes effortlessly; he might never have stood a chance. Not with his youngest\u2019s eyes still immerged so deep in his own.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe will come back, won\u2019t he, Pa? They\u2019ll\u2026they\u2019ll find him, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey will.\u201d The telegram was back in his hand, miraculously, and he read the words out loud, as if they were new and unacquainted, \u201cSearching hospitals, will find him. Will find him.<\/em> They will. Hoss\u2026has he ever not found anything? He\u2019s like a bloodhound: he never stops once he\u2019s on the track.\u201d He looked at the telegram, read it again, laughed quietly as he realised that they now had not one, but two sleuth dogs in the family. \u201cAnd Juliet is just too persistent to not accomplish anything she decides to do. \u2018Will find him,\u2019 that\u2019s her all right. She\u2019d never accept anything less than a full victory.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPersistent? Or pig-headed?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBoth, I\u2019m afraid, but this time it might be for the best.\u201d He nodded, more to himself than to Joe, and more to convince himself than to exhibit agreement. Nothing less than a full victory<\/em>, he repeated in his head, and then his ratio provided him with the part he did not want to share with Joe and he wished he could ignore: but what if they failed?<\/em> No, he wouldn\u2019t go that way. WILL FIND HIM. He\u2019d have faith.<\/p>\n

\u201cPa, how long do you think it\u2019ll take them? Maybe they already\u2026what if they\u2019ve already found him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Territorial Enterprise<\/em> said there were more than fourteen thousand wounded Union soldiers, Joe. I have no idea how many hospitals there are, but there must be a good many. Some not even in Gettysburg\u2026. I expect it\u2019ll take them quite some time to search them.\u201d More than fourteen thousand wounded Union soldiers<\/em>, and Lord knew how many Confederates. Ben shook his head. The headlines spoke of forty to fifty thousand casualties on both sides. In one battle. It was unimaginable. What a waste of young men.<\/em> Fourteen thousand wounded\u2014Gettysburg must be one single gigantic infirmary.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

There were more hospitals in Gettysburg than Hoss would have expected, and he\u2019d been in more of them than he thought he could bear\u2014and yet they still were at the beginning of their quest.<\/p>\n

He poured himself another lukewarm cup of coffee. It was long after supper. Juliet, completely exhausted, had gone to bed already; Mrs. Milward had cleared the table and retired to her room, leaving him the slowly cooling coffee pot and some of her cranberry cookies. It almost felt like being at home, coffee and cookies, the quiet after a long work day, time to think things over, time to regain strength. And he needed his strength, desperately.<\/p>\n

Every day, they got up early, had a short but hearty breakfast for him and a cup of tea for Juliet and, leaving Henry with Mrs. Milward, went to search as many infirmaries as they could manage, then returned in the early afternoon for a late lunch and some rounds of \u201cSimple Simon,\u201d \u201cThis Little Piggy,\u201d or \u201cHumpty Dumpty\u201d before leaving again and continuing their hunt until the sun stood low and the nurses threw them out of the hospitals.<\/p>\n

As much as he obviously liked Mrs. Milward, Henry had started to complain bitterly at his mother\u2019s departure after a few days. It broke Juliet\u2019s heart, and his own, too, but there was no way they could take Henry with them. They had tried it once, on the first day, when they hadn\u2019t the least notion of what awaited them. The baby was too small to understand the strange mixture of utter misery and coarse keyed-up cheerfulness, but he seemed to sense that particular tension and reacted with becoming fidgety and cranky. The stench didn\u2019t help, either. It was, mildly put, unpleasant for Hoss, and nearly impossible to stomach for Juliet, who struggled with bouts of nausea and vertigo almost constantly. For Henry, who didn\u2019t even know why he had to put up with all those affronts, it must have been excruciating.<\/p>\n

The final straw, though, was the hissed comment of a soldier who wore an eye patch, and an empty sleeve where his right arm had been. \u201cNigger lover,\u201d he\u2019d spat as they\u2019d passed his cod.<\/p>\n

Juliet had pulled Hoss away from the man, shaking her head and whispering he wasn\u2019t worth any trouble, and that they didn\u2019t have time to waste anyway. There and then they\u2019d decided they wouldn\u2019t take Henry with them anymore.<\/p>\n

Later, at lunch in Mrs. Milward\u2019s dining room, she had studied Henry for a long time.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe is<\/em> very dark, isn\u2019t he?\u201d she\u2019d said, and Hoss hadn\u2019t known how to answer.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe looks so much like Adam. There\u2019s not a single trace of me in him.\u201d<\/p>\n

She was right\u2014and not right. Henry was dark, especially for a baby, with his olive skin and black hair and eyebrows. He had Adam\u2019s nose, and his eyes had turned from baby-blue to a funny shade of dark greenish-brown, not completely like Adam\u2019s eyes but close enough. He pursed his lips like Adam, he had the same half smile, and when he laughed he displayed dimples like Adam. But he also raised his stubborn chin when he wasn\u2019t all satisfied with things, his long-fingered hands were delicate like Juliet\u2019s, and his eyes threw sparkles at everyone when he was delighted.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re both in him,\u201d Hoss had eventually said. \u201cMaybe Adam more than you\u2014but Henry\u2019s a boy, so what do ya expect?\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet had sent him a few of her own sparkles at that, and kissed Henry and said she wouldn\u2019t want it otherwise anyway.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe the next baby is a girl and looks like you?\u201d Hoss had said nonetheless; and he wasn\u2019t surprised at all when Juliet had sent him more sparkles and her first genuine smile since they\u2019d left in the morning.<\/p>\n

It had been the last genuine smile for a long time. While at Mrs. Milward\u2019s, Juliet was stressed by Henry\u2019s crankiness and clinging to her; the as yet unsuccessful search in the reeking, thick-aired hospitals, the ailing men and their desperate pleas for attention, the constant battle with her revolting stomach, the guilt of neglecting her child, and the knowledge that it would go on like that for an unforeseeable time took their toll on her at the rest of the day.<\/p>\n

And they\u2019d not even made it to searching the hospitals in the surrounding villages….<\/p>\n

Hoss rubbed his hands over his face. He was tired, too. Time to go to bed. Finishing the last sip of coffee, he\u2019d just gotten up from his chair, when he heard hurried foot steps on the stairs, and then Mrs. Milward rushed into the room.<\/p>\n

\u201cMr. Cartwright,\u201d she said with obviously forced calm. \u201cYour sister needs you. Please go and see to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat…?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t\u2014just go and be with her until I return with the doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n

_________
\nThere is no hope unmingled with fear, and no fear unmingled with hope. ~ Baruch Spinoza<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

The words given were: track, field, summer, agony, victory.<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 13<\/strong><\/h3>\n

And the Lord Taketh Away<\/h3>\n

There was blood almost everywhere. Blood on the blanket, blood on the sheets, blood on Juliet\u2019s nightgown, blood on her hands, blood on her face even, where she had pressed her hands to her cheeks, to her mouth\u2014perhaps to muffle anguished cries or just to keep herself in check\u2014blood in her hair where she must have torn at it or pushed it back from her face; blood all around her.<\/p>\n

The room was lit only by a single candle on the nightstand. Its flickerings illuminated the bed like a stark white and red island amidst a sea of black flaring shadows, or like a lit-up stage in a darkened theatre.<\/p>\n

Juliet sat in the middle of the display, slightly hunched, with a pool of crumpled blanket around her. She was supporting her weight on one arm in front of her, the other was wrapped around her waist, and she was rocking back and forth, back and forth, slowly, almost placidly.<\/p>\n

It was eerily still; not a sound came either from her or from the cradle, hidden somewhere in the darkness of the room.<\/p>\n

Hoss wavered in the door way, afraid to ask, afraid to know, afraid to trespass. Finally, one soft word made it past his dry lips. \u201cJuliet?\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked up. Her eyes were huge; dark like Lake Tahoe at night, and just as deep and bottomless. Fear?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cHoss.\u201d A mere whimper, he almost didn\u2019t hear it. Yes, she was afraid. Terrified.<\/p>\n

He crossed the threshold and stepped into the small circle of light. \u201cWhat happened? Where\u2026Henry?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHenry is asleep.\u201d She looked into the dark to where the cradle must be standing, as if to make sure she said the truth, then back at him. \u201cHe\u2019s asleep. He\u2019s a good boy, sleeping through the night finally. As if he knew\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

She clutched her middle more tightly, nearly doubling over, and let out a small, suppressed cry of pain.<\/p>\n

He knew telling her to stop holding back would be useless, and so he did the only thing he could think of and let himself down beside her, not even wincing at the thought that he was sitting in her blood. It didn\u2019t matter. Nothing mattered but the distraught woman in pain next to him. Hoss laid a hand on her back, moving it in small soothing circles.<\/p>\n

Hands clenched on the blanket, she merely endured his caress, heaving deep shuddering breaths until her posture relaxed, and she sat up straighter, even leaning into his touch.<\/p>\n

She cradled her hands in her lap, palms up, studying them intensely. With a sleeve of her nightshirt she tried to clean the blood from one hand, not comprehending the futileness of it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m losing it,\u201d she eventually whispered. \u201cOr maybe it\u2019s gone already.\u201d The wiping of her hand became almost violent, the dabbing more like punching.<\/p>\n

He increased the pressure to her back, trying to make his presence more palpable, to make it an offer, a reassurance, an anchor. There was no doubt about what was happening, no doubt that there was no way to stop it. Nothing he did would change that. All he could manage was to be with her, awkward and surreal as it was, sitting here next to her, caressing her back and yet not really reaching her. Two people side by side yet miles away from another. Once again, he wished he were more like Adam, who always seemed to know what to do and what to say, and how to get through to her.<\/p>\n

You don\u2019t have to be Adam. You\u2019re Hoss; and that\u2019s all you need to be.<\/em> Hadn\u2019t she said that herself on the train ride?<\/p>\n

He tightened his grip on her, and pulled her into his arms. \u201cI\u2019m here,\u201d he whispered. \u201cI\u2019m holding you.\u201d<\/p>\n

He felt her breath warm and wet on his shoulder, where she\u2019d pressed her face; he felt her body much bonier and lithe than he\u2019d have expected in his arms, felt her softly melting into him\u2014unexpected, inappropriately right. And alarming.<\/p>\n

\u201cJuliet?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI failed,\u201d she said into his shoulder. Muffled, low, barely audible. \u201cIt\u2019s my fault, I know it. I shouldn\u2019t have\u2026shouldn\u2019t have\u2026but how could I not have done it? I needed answers, I needed to look for\u2026and we nearly found him, right? Hoss? We nearly found him, we\u2019re almost there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis ain\u2019t your fault. This ain\u2019t nobody\u2019s fault.\u201d Wasn\u2019t it? Shouldn\u2019t he have spared her this ordeal? Shouldn\u2019t he have told her to stay at home and have gone all by himself? Shouldn\u2019t he have read the signs better? Her exhaustion, her anguish? Shouldn\u2019t he have realised the toll this all was taking on her? Shouldn\u2019t he have stopped her?<\/p>\n

\u201cIt ain\u2019t nobody\u2019s fault,\u201d he repeated, shoving the jolt of guilt aside. He couldn\u2019t afford the luxury of wallowing in guilt right now. Guilt was selfish, and this wasn\u2019t a time to be selfish. He was needed. She<\/em> needed him; strong, comforting\u2014not self-incriminating.<\/p>\n

Juliet apparently hadn\u2019t heard him, or she just ignored his words\u2014or didn\u2019t believe them. \u201cI failed,\u201d she said again. \u201cI failed to take care of my child. Of our child, Adam\u2019s and mine. Adam\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

As she lifted her head from his shoulder, he could see her face, white as a ghost\u2019s and almost as frightening. \u201cIt was Adam\u2019s child, and I\u2026I failed him. Them<\/em>. I don\u2019t deserve\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStop it.\u201d He thought briefly about slapping her, but settled for shaking her at her shoulders. \u201cJuliet, you know that\u2019s not true. You know you ain\u2019t failing nobody. Not Adam, not the baby. Things happen. That\u2019s all there is to it.\u201d<\/p>\n

He saw even more traces of colour draining from her face, as impossible as it seemed. She fell back into his arms, her body lying against his, boneless and heavy, as if there wasn\u2019t any strength left in her to keep her upright.<\/p>\n

\u201cHoss,\u201d she breathed so low that if she weren\u2019t so close to him he wouldn\u2019t have heard her. \u201cPromise me to look after Henry for me if anything\u2026promise me. Promise me to keep looking for Adam, and when you find him, look after him, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014nothing will happen, ya hear me? Nothing. Everything will be all right.\u201d Don\u2019t do this to me.<\/em> For a brief moment the image of Adam flashed before his eyes, Adam in a Yankee uniform, who asked, \u201cWhere\u2019s Juliet?\u201d He shook his head to make his mind stop trying to put the unthinkable into words. This couldn\u2019t be happening, could it?<\/p>\n

\u201cPromise me,\u201d Juliet repeated.<\/p>\n

And even though he was scared of the consequences, he said, \u201cI do. I promise,\u201d and then he felt her become even heavier in his arms, and completely still. Beneath her, the bed sheet soaked up every ounce of life draining out of her, the red creating an almost obscene contrast to the once pristine white.<\/p>\n

He held her, helpless, not daring to let go of her, until he heard footsteps on the stairs. There was Mrs. Milward with the doctor, a grim looking middle-aged man who took a sharp breath at the scene before him; and then Hoss was ushered out of the room.<\/p>\n

He stood outside in the hallway, unable to move, not knowing where to go or what to do, until the landlady opened the door and handed him Henry, who blinked sleepily at him, his twisting mouth already indicating the impending tears.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo downstairs,\u201d Mrs. Milward said. \u201cAnd take the baby with you. He can\u2019t be in here now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs…will everything be all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, I\u2019m sorry. It doesn\u2019t look…I don\u2019t know. Prepare for anything.\u201d She squeezed his hand, briefly, then turned and closed the door behind her.<\/p>\n

And then Henry started to wail; and no matter what Hoss did, he kept crying for the rest of the night.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

The sea was in turmoil. The water was murky, yet strikingly green, churned up by the winds of a thunder storm, the boiling waves crowned by white foam. In the sky, clouds were chasing one another, tattered shreds of dark grey, like rag dolls, mirroring the seething chaos beneath them.<\/p>\n

His boat was sturdy, big and solid; even though he had to clutch firmly at the mainmast to avoid going overboard, he felt safe from sinking. Strangely fascinated, he watched the mayhem around him. At the edge of his vision he made out a shipwreck. It was an old ship, as far as he could tell, an English three-masted barque. Two masts were down, the stern half submerged. Lifeboats were scattered around the ship, desperately trying to stay upright in the angry sea; some had gone keel up already.<\/p>\n

He thought he heard the seamen\u2019s desperate cries over the roar of the storm and the waves, but it might have been his imagination. As his ship steered closer to the wreck, he saw that the boats were empty. One by one they flipped over and were swallowed by the raging sea, until one last boat remained\u2014and this one was occupied. The figure in it was blurred; he caught a glimpse of something dark green, though it might have been only a reflection of the sea. A hand was stretched out towards him, an arm clad in green, nearly the same colour as the sea; but he was too far away to reach it.<\/p>\n

The boat danced on the water; tossed by the waves like a nutshell, it was on the verge of capsizing. With certain clarity he suddenly knew he wouldn\u2019t be able to reach the boat in time to save its sole passenger.<\/p>\n

And just as he realised that, he heard the cry for help.<\/p>\n

\u201cHelp me.\u201d It was a small voice, nearly inaudible in the storm, not classifiable, most certainly not familiar\u2014but not much had been familiar lately, anyway.<\/p>\n

\u201cHelp me,\u201d it said. \u201cI need you.\u201d It sounded nearly intimate, as if the caller knew to whom they addressed themselves.<\/p>\n

He formed a mouthpiece with his hands and shouted, \u201cI can\u2019t reach you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHelp me,\u201d the voice came back. \u201cHelp me, Adam!\u201d<\/p>\n

The shock of it awoke him. He was sweating, again, and breathing heavily. He reached for the mug of water he knew was standing on the bed table, and for the small book Bernadette had given him to record whatever clue with which his dreams fed him.<\/p>\n

Not that he ever forgot anything he\u2019d dreamt. It was as if he was trying to prove to himself that he didn\u2019t forget things on purpose, that there was something bigger than he that kept the memories of his former life obscured from him.<\/p>\n

No, he didn\u2019t drink from Lethe<\/em> willingly. He wanted to know. He wanted to remember.<\/p>\n

Bernadette sometimes seemed afraid of what lay in the past, as if it could destroy the present. But the present was\u2026nearly nothing. It was pain and illness, it was suspicion and distrust. It also was love, that one bright spot. Love and Bernadette, love and Bernadette, love and Bernadette. How could a man fall so easily, so completely, so deeply in love? He\u2019d never fallen so quickly\u2014well, maybe he had, but he couldn\u2019t remember.<\/p>\n

It was strange, weird: he could remember how to speak, to read and write, how to hold a spoon and to put on a shirt (now he finally was able to do it on his own again), he could remember things he\u2019d read at some point in his former life; and he could remember his virtues, and how it felt to be in love. How to court a woman, and how to be a polite and friendly man. But he couldn\u2019t remember who taught him to be polite and friendly, or why he knew that a black man wasn\u2019t worth less than a white and that no man should own another. He couldn\u2019t remember how he\u2019d learnt that a woman wanted to be touched tenderly, and spoken to in a respectful manner.<\/p>\n

He couldn\u2019t remember what had made him the man he was\u2014or what kind of man he actually was.<\/p>\n

He had a vague idea of how his last days on the battlefield had gone, even though he still had no idea for which side he\u2019d been fighting. All right, that last wasn\u2019t entirely true. He had a pretty good idea of that by now\u2014just no proof\u2014but he wouldn\u2019t share that particular information with anyone.<\/p>\n

Random bits of memory came back to him every day. Sometimes triggered by a smell, a sound, a touch, something somebody said, a certain tone of voice. Nothing substantial up to now: memories of a chestnut coloured horse galloping towards him; a basket of strawberries on a red-chequered blanket; a ladybug on his hand; a porcelain music box painted with cherubs and flowers; an infectious giggle; red artist\u2019s tights; a bed of cream coloured roses\u2014things like that. Nothing that had told him who he was. Except that he was sure it did<\/em> tell him who he was. Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, all those bits were parts of who he was, of what made him\u2026<\/p>\n

Adam.<\/p>\n

The voice in his dream had called him \u201cAdam.\u201d He had two names now, Joe and Adam. Joe, apparently someone close to him, and Adam\u2026that was him.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam,\u201d he said in wonder. It did sound familiar, like something he\u2019d known all his life. The most natural thing. He had no idea how he could have forgotten it at all. \u201cAdam.\u201d He chuckled. Couldn\u2019t help but laugh. Another bright spot in his present life.<\/p>\n

From a much darker part of his mind, though, it laughed at him. How small his world had become, how little he needed to be happy. Pathetic.<\/em><\/p>\n

And yet it was enough. Step by step,<\/em> he thought. And this particular step wasn\u2019t as small as his sarcasm was trying to make it look. It was huge: he had a name now.<\/p>\n

He smiled, smiled broadly still when Bernadette approached his bedside, carrying a bowl of water and a basket full of what looked like stripes of linen.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning. You\u2019re in a good mood, I see,\u201d she smiled, putting her things down on the bedside table. \u201cI\u2019m going to have to spoil it a bit, I\u2019m sorry to say. But I promise I\u2019ll be careful changing your dressings.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re always careful, m\u2019dear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI try,\u201d she said, then checked his forehead and frowned. \u201cYou\u2019re still running a slight fever, I\u2019m afraid. Let\u2019s see what awaits us under those bandages.\u201d<\/p>\n

As she reached out to pull down his blanket, he caught her hands. They were small hands, strong and gripping if need be, but feather-light and tender at other times. She tried to wrench them out of his grasp, but he didn\u2019t let her. Just held them firmly in his hands.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2026?\u201d she laughed, a trace of insecurity resonating in her words. \u201cI promised to be careful.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen let me\u2026\u201d She pulled again, to no avail. \u201cWhat is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve got a name.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEverybody\u2019s<\/em> got a\u2014\u201d She broke off. Sinking down on his bedside, she drew her hands out of his now-slackening grip and put them on his shoulder. Leaning closer, she said in a low voice, \u201cYou\u2019ve got a name? You\u2026know your<\/em> name?\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded. Smiled.<\/p>\n

She swallowed. \u201cYou know who you are now?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d He shook his head. \u201cJust my name. Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam\u2026who?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJust Adam. No surname.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam.\u201d<\/p>\n

He could see she was tasting the name, rolling it on her tongue. Something of it was familiar, something that triggered\u2026an outstretched hand, long, elegant fingers, manicured but stained with tiny blue spots\u2014ink?<\/em> and then it was over, the image gone.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam. A good name, Adam.\u201d She smiled. \u201cAdam.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her smile was beautiful. The joy in her voice was beautiful. He wanted more of that. More beauty, more smiling, more joy.<\/p>\n

\u201cI might be a sailor,\u201d he gave her, and was rewarded with more<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cA sailor? Captain Adam<\/em>.\u201d More more<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cI dreamt I was on a ship on the sea.\u201d He closed his eyes, trying to conjure the images of that last dream. \u201cThere was a storm, and someone called for my help.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you recognise that person?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA man, a woman? Young, old?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. I didn\u2019t\u2026really, I couldn\u2019t see much. Everything was blurred.\u201d He opened his eyes. \u201cIt was the first dream that wasn\u2019t about the war. Strange, I realise that only now. It was about\u2026well, not the war. Something private\u2026civilian. It must have been significant.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you\u2019re Adam, the sailor.\u201d She frowned. \u201cOr Adam, the traveller?\u201d<\/p>\n

The traveller.<\/em> It sounded\u2026right<\/em>, somehow. A traveller. A salesman, perhaps. But the calluses on his hands told the story of hard labour\u2026so perhaps it was \u201cAdam, the sailor\u201d after all.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d rather be a traveller,\u201d he finally said, amused by his almost petulant tone.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe not knowing can be a blessing, too.\u201d Bernadette nodded slowly. \u201cYou could start anew. Be what you want to be, who you want to be. A traveller, if you\u2019re so inclined.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI prefer to know things. Bad or good, I want to know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if it hurt you? Even if it would cost you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe truth is never too expensive,\u201d he said almost savagely\u2014and he was sure he\u2019d heard those words before from another person. A dark, velvety voice. Coffee-brown eyes\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cIt could\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought I told you to change the patient\u2019s dressing, not to chitchat with him.\u201d<\/p>\n

She jumped up at that voice, straightening her skirt and apron, checking her nurse\u2019s hat. \u201cDr. Mabbs, I\u2019m terribly sorry, I just\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t blame her, doctor. It\u2019s my fault, I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sure it is, Soldier. Don\u2019t think I don\u2019t see through you and your schemes.\u201d The doctor stood straight and tall, his uniform straining around his massive middle. He made an impressive figure, a fact of which he seemed entirely conscious, and which he obviously even tried to enhance by squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin to peer down on his inferiors in scrutiny.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t understand…\u201d Adam started but was interrupted yet again.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, of course you don\u2019t understand. You don\u2019t understand very much, do you? With that oh-so-convenient amnesia.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t find it particularly convenient<\/em>. What are you implying?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cImplying? I\u2019m not implying anything. I just put one and one together. Isn\u2019t it funny how you know so much about this last battle\u2014yet don\u2019t remember<\/em> to which side you belong? I call that very convenient<\/em>, Mr. Yankee-Accent.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was more pointing towards the North, more than his accent, Adam was aware of that. Everything in him screamed that there was no way he\u2019d be fighting for a society that supported slavery. Even though he understood the South\u2019s striving for freedom and their feeling of having been overruled by the Union for a long time, he couldn\u2019t believe he supported the idea that not all<\/em> men should be free, no matter the colour of their skin. It was a part of him so fundamental that he hadn\u2019t forgotten it, just as he hadn\u2019t forgotten how to breathe, how to eat and drink.<\/p>\n

Of course, he\u2019d never share these insights with anyone here.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t take me for a fool, Soldier. I\u2019m watching you, and as soon as I have proof for my suspicion I\u2019ll have you transferred to prison.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d never take you for a fool, doctor. And I advise you not to take me for a fool, either.\u201d He spat it, knowing it was the not the wisest thing to do\u2014but he couldn\u2019t help it. There was no way he could have swallowed those words or said them in a less hostile fashion.<\/p>\n

Predictably, Dr. Mabbs picked up the gauntlet only too willingly. \u201cPerhaps I\u2019ll arrange for the relocation right now,\u201d he sneered.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t do that,\u201d Bernadette jumped in. \u201cWithout constant medical care he\u2019d die. The infection still isn\u2019t under control, he\u2019s running a fever, he\u2019s weak and\u2026and\u2026and ill, and\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

The doctor let her deliver her rant, mildly smiling like a father would at his babbling child. Only as she trailed off, he spoke again, deadly soft. \u201cIf that is the case, Nurse Lemont, then you might want to see to it that my orders concerning the patient\u2019s treatment are followed without any further delay.\u201d He waved an impatient hand. \u201cClean the wound, change the dressings. No chitchatting. Then see to your other patients.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned and stalked away without sparing his patient another glance.<\/p>\n

Bernadette was close to tears. \u201cAdam, I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShh, not now. Let\u2019s talk later. Tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nodded, and carried out her instructions: cleaned the wound, changed the dressings. No chitchatting. Then saw to her other patients.<\/p>\n

Adam soon fell into a troubled slumber. This time he found himself drifting in the raging sea, clinging to an upturned lifeboat. Through the howling storm he heard it again. \u201cHelp me, Adam. I need you!\u201d<\/p>\n

It was the voice of a woman, and he knew her.<\/p>\n

__________
\nWhen sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions. ~ William Shakespeare, Hamlet<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

This chapter is dedicated to Z., with my sincerest thanks for trusting me with sharing certain memories.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

The words given were: Munster, Asiago, Buffalo, Beaufort, and Stilton.<\/p>\n

Yes, our dear Cheaux can be cruel. Of course, there was no way to incorporate five kinds of cheese into the above chapter: drama and cheese don’t go together well.<\/p>\n

But our dear Cheaux can also be generous, and so she offered as an alternative to work into the story the plot element “an unexpected enemy turns up”; and I went with that.<\/p>\n

The enemy’s name is my reference to the cheesy challenge. So, in a way, I incorporated both, the words and the plot element. In a very farfetched way. \ud83d\ude42<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 14<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Tides in Acheron*<\/h3>\n

In retrospect, the whole idea had been completely stupid. An idiot plan, if ever there was one. And yet it had sounded reasonable as they\u2019d come up with it the night after Dr. Mabbs had issued his threat: wait until past midnight when everyone was asleep, put on some civilian clothes Bernadette would provide, tiptoe silently through the rows of beds, then down the corridors and out of the building. Sneak through Charlottesville\u2019s empty nocturnal streets until they reached the horse and cart Bernadette would have left somewhere in the outskirts of town before coming to the hospital for her night shift.<\/p>\n

It had been a scheme born out of desperation and baseless hope, out of ignorance and denial of reality; destined to fail. A lost race from the very beginning.<\/p>\n

Adam would have laughed if he weren\u2019t hurting so much.<\/p>\n

Over the three days following the confrontation with Dr. Mabbs, Bernadette had done everything in her power to stabilise Adam\u2019s condition. She\u2019d cleaned his wound and changed the dressings three times a day, fed him elderflower tea to fight the persistent fever and tried to get as much nourishment into him as he was able to digest\u2014and the constantly waning provisions would offer. He hadn\u2019t regained as much strength as they\u2019d hoped, but they felt they couldn\u2019t postpone things much longer.<\/p>\n

Dr. Mabbs didn\u2019t repeat his original threat, yet he developed the unsettling habit of appearing out of nowhere and saying things like \u201cYou are very thorough, Nurse Lemont, aren\u2019t you?\u201d or \u201cI do believe you\u2019ve done quite enough for this patient, Nurse. Others are waiting,\u201d whenever Bernadette was tending (and talking) to Adam, taking longer than strictly necessary. Bernadette always nearly jumped at the sound of the doctor\u2019s voice, her eyes became wide and fearful, she got clumsy with whatever she was doing, and all she apparently was able to reply was a stuttered \u201cYes, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

More and more, the Great Escape seemed to be indispensable for both of them, and Adam couldn\u2019t help but feel he was helping her as much as she was helping him. It was a comforting thought, a familiar and pleasant feeling: he was taking charge, he was protecting someone\u2014as if he\u2019d slipped back into an old suit, a well-worn pair of boots\u2026a once-lived life.<\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t need more than a whispered \u201cTonight\u201d after yet another episode with Dr. Mabbs and a brief nod of agreement from Bernadette to settle the date.<\/p>\n

It had been the only part of their plan that actually had worked.<\/p>\n

Despite his best efforts, Adam must have fallen asleep for he was roused out of yet another dream in which he was drifting in a boiling green sea, desperately trying to follow the eerily familiar female voice whose pleas for help were slowly dying away, by a soft joggling at his shoulder. Momentarily disoriented in the pitch-blackness, not seeing but sensing a presence at his side, he couldn\u2019t suppress a soft gasp.<\/p>\n

\u201cShh,\u201d Bernadette\u2019s low voice came out of the dark. \u201cIt\u2019s me, Adam. Only me. Shall I light a candle?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he breathed back. \u201cI\u2019m all right. Just need to adjust my eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bernadette didn\u2019t respond. She just sat there next to him, motionless. He heard her breathe a tad too quickly, a tad too shallowly, and he reached out and took her hand, held it tightly, stroking it with his thumb. She heaved a deep breath, then put her other hand over his. They remained like that until he could see more than just her outline and whispered, \u201cNow.\u201d<\/p>\n

The set of civilian clothes Bernadette had brought him turned out to be a pair of plain camel-coloured pants and a red and blue-chequered shirt. For a moment Adam thought his eyes betrayed him, but no: there was just enough light to distinguish the pattern and guess the colours.<\/p>\n

\u201cCouldn\u2019t you find something less\u2026chequered?\u201d he asked carefully.<\/p>\n

She sniggered. Quietly, very suppressed so not to wake anyone, but she sniggered. They were attempting escape, and she\u2019d\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cYou do want me to become a lumberjack after all,\u201d he laughed softly, oddly comforted by her unexpected, untimely and\u2026yes, stinging display of humour. Something was familiar about it, something that made the faint sting\u2026enjoyable, something that reminded him that pleasure did not always come without pain. No rose without a thorn.<\/em> And then there was that bed of cream coloured roses before his eyes again, and a burlap sack tied close with a red ribbon, a notebook bound in dark green with a meandering serpent embroidered on it, a stack of books, scarlet silk, a scarlet blood stain blooming on a grey vest, a long slim face with a thin moustache\u2026. He heard a breathy voice saying \u201cI promise to look after that Queen of Whiskey-flowers\u201d and then a suppressed choking, and he turned his head, instinctively, to see the person who\u2019d choked\u2014but there was only Bernadette, panic-faced.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam,\u201d she said. \u201cAdam, are you all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am…I just need to\u2026\u201d He tried to conjure the slim face, the choking\u2014but as always when he wanted to force them back, the memories just slipped further away, leaving him feeling mocked and somehow emptier than before.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam, I\u2019m sorry. I didn\u2019t mean to offend you. I have another shirt in the carriage, you can change when we got there.\u201d Bernadette\u2019s whisper was urgent, her face still anxious.<\/p>\n

He shook his head, as if that could rid him of all remaining traces of memory. This wasn\u2019t the time for soul gazing. \u201cIt\u2019s all right. I\u2019m not\u2014I don\u2019t mind the shirt, it\u2019s all right, honestly. Let\u2019s just\u2026carry on.\u201d<\/p>\n

By the time they\u2019d finally gotten him into shirt and pants and a pair of boots, he was sweating and shivering, feeling more exhausted than he had any right to as he sat on the edge of his bed, breathing heavily. He didn\u2019t care what colour that blasted shirt had or whatever hideous pattern\u2014there was no way he would change his outfit anytime soon. And if there were the world\u2019s finest garments on the carriage, he would not go through this ordeal again. Not for\u2026a very long time.<\/p>\n

This is not the way a gentleman would behave<\/em>, a female voice with a very clipped British accent said in his head. She sounded like a governess. Had he been raised by a governess? He shook his head. No, not now.<\/em><\/p>\n

He planted his feet firmly on the ground and pushed himself up. The world made a leap, then lurched to the side and slowly took him with it.<\/p>\n

\u201cSteady.\u201d How Bernadette managed to keep him upright was beyond him. She was a head shorter than him, with a small frame, but there was a strength in her that surprised him not for the first time. \u201cAre you sure you\u2019re up to this?\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cSure.\u201d A blatant lie? Perhaps\u2014but a necessary one. \u201cI\u2014wait.\u201d He reached down to the bedside table\u2014at least this was possible without a problem, at least his head wasn\u2019t hurting anymore and the nausea that had accompanied every movement for weeks was gone\u2014and snatched up his notebook. Passing it from one hand to the other he wondered, where to\u2014?<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cLeave it here,\u201d Bernadette urged. \u201cIt\u2019s only dead freight. It will just weigh you down. And in more ways than one.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s light weight, and everything I have. I don\u2019t consider it ballast.\u201d He stuffed it into his shirt. The small book contained his life, at least all he knew of it. And even though he knew every single word in it by heart, he wouldn\u2019t let it back, wouldn\u2019t let anyone have it. It was his<\/em> life. His<\/em>. His everything. \u201cNow let\u2019s\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

The first step with his bad leg was pure agony. Even though Bernadette tried to support him, even though he leaned much more on her than he wanted, his leg shook violently, and buckled even under the slightest pressure. The second step was even worse. It was not a small wonder that he managed to stay upright at all; perhaps only the knowledge that he wouldn\u2019t be able to get up if he fell prevented him from tumbling. Seeing that he wasn\u2019t able to put any weight on his leg, it would have been only sensible to stop things there and then\u2014but they were beyond sense already.<\/p>\n

Bracing himself heavily on Bernadette\u2019s shoulder, Adam half hobbled, half limped beside her past bed after bed. The other patients were lying in deep, mostly laudanum-supported, slumber\u2014two or three were awake, drowsily watching them making their awkward way through the unlit room. One man gave them a lazy salute and a sleepy grin.<\/p>\n

Somehow they made it to the door. It felt like hours since he\u2019d woken up, and the biggest part of that time they\u2019d spent in crossing the room. Adam didn\u2019t want to think of the corridors that lay behind that door, the stairs that lay behind the corridors, or the streets that lay behind the stairs. He focused on the carriage that waited behind it all, the carriage with soft blankets on the wagon bed. The carriage that would take him to\u2026some place. They hadn\u2019t really talked about that yet, but there would be time for that. Later. First, they had to open the door and make it down the corridor.<\/p>\n

Bernadette held a finger before her mouth\u2014as if he needed the reminder. She carefully opened the door\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, see to it, Nurse Waterman. And next time think before you wake me,\u201d wafted in from somewhere out there in the hallway.<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Mabbs!\u201d Bernadette\u2019s face suddenly was white as salt. \u201cWe will never\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe wait.\u201d Adam, leaning on the wall while Bernadette sounded out the situation, took her hand and squeezed it briefly. \u201cWe just wait until he\u2019s gone. I can use the break. It\u2019s a blessing, actually.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut Dr.\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEverything will be all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLook at me, Bernadette. It\u2019s going to be all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiled, faintly, then opened the door again, just a slit.<\/p>\n

A small sliver of light fell through the slit and down on the floor where it lay like a separation line between her and him\u2014and so did the voice of Dr. Mabbs.<\/p>\n

\u201cNow I\u2019m already awake, I can just as well look after the gut shot in room four. The Captain might need another dose of\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

The rest of the sentence was absorbed from the door Bernadette had hastily closed.<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019d nearly cried. The worst had not been that their escape had been thwarted; the worst had not been that had Dr. Mabbs not checked on another soldier before he\u2019d come to \u201cthe gut shot in room four\u201d he\u2019d have caught them right in the middle of said room four, like burglars or misbehaving children or escaping prisoners of war; the worst had not been that in their haste to get him out of his boots and pants and that ridiculous lumberjack shirt they\u2019d aggravated his not yet healed wound, pulled open barely knitted flesh, torn overstretched skin\u2014no, the worst had been none of those. The worst had been that he\u2019d had to hobble all the way back, had to give back every gained foot, every hard-won inch, every goddamn step he\u2019d made.<\/p>\n

The way back had been even more taxing than the way to the door. Not only because he\u2019d been worn out already\u2014it was the thought that all his arduous labour had been for nothing, and the knowledge that even without the arrival of Dr. Mabbs their attempt at flight had been destined to fail.<\/p>\n

They made it barely in time. Bernadette, having just secured the bundle of clothes they\u2019d practically ripped from Adam under her wide skirt, was dabbing cold sweat from his face, when they heard the door open and Dr. Mabbs come in.<\/p>\n

The bulky man walked through the room surprisingly noiselessly, paused somewhere and murmured something unintelligible, then moved back, softly speaking to himself, \u201cWell, well, well. All is quiet.\u201d<\/p>\n

And then Adam\u2019s notebook slipped through Bernadette\u2019s nervous fingers and landed on the floor with a crash that echoed through the silent room like thunder.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the deuce\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

Dr. Mabbs\u2019s footfalls were much louder than before as they hurried to the back of the room. He was carrying a small oil lamp that sent out flickering vanguards of light and caught the hem of Bernadette\u2019s skirt, then wandered up to her frozen face.<\/p>\n

\u201cFor God\u2019s sake, Nurse Lemont! You gave me the fright of my life.\u201d The doctor held the lamp higher, and the flames casted shadows on his face giving it an almost demonic expression. \u201cWhat are<\/em> you doing here in the darkness anyway?\u201d<\/p>\n

Bernadette\u2019s answer was a shaking finger pointing at Adam\u2019s leg that lay uncovered upon the blanket, its bandage a mess of blood and pus.<\/p>\n

Dr. Mabbs suppressed a curse, and then, barking out orders Bernadette followed without asking twice, set himself to undress the wound, prodded and probed it and pressed out more pus. The pain outclassed everything Adam had experienced earlier that night, but he passed out only when the doctor started lancing the wound.<\/p>\n

He woke from a stinging pain as his leg was dressed in fresh bandages. His mouth was dry and he felt the telltale signs of fever and fatigue that seemed to have become an integral part of his very being. His head was lifted, Bernadette<\/em>, and then a glass touched his lips and he sipped cool, slightly bitter water. Laudanum. At least sleep will come easy.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know what you did to reopen that wound yet again,\u201d Dr. Mabbs said, only inches from his face.<\/p>\n

Adam felt a fine spray of spit going down on his cheeks and, disgusted, tried to move his head, but the doctor held it in place.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know what it is,\u201d he hissed. \u201cBut I strongly advise you to stop it\u2014even though this time it seems to have been a blessing because it opened a hidden abscess.\u201d<\/p>\n

He let go of Adam\u2019s face and turned to Bernadette. \u201cAnd I strongly advise you to stop anything that exceeds what is considered usual between nurse and patient. Now clean up and then go home. Your shift is over.\u201d<\/p>\n

She had just nodded then, and silently watched Dr. Mabbs leaving, then had collected bloodstained cloths and surgical instruments in an enamel basin, and wiped the floor with a rag she thereafter had deposited it the basin, too.<\/p>\n

Adam had tried to talk to her, but she\u2019d given only short answers, never really interrupting her actions. In the end, after she\u2019d taken the basin away, she\u2019d come back wiping her hands on her apron, had sat down on the edge of his bed and heaved a deep breath before she\u2019d said in a steady voice, \u201cI love you, Adam. I won\u2019t do anything that\u2019ll bring harm to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019d stared at her, stunned by her bluntness and moved by her sincerity. Overwhelmed by the enormity of her words. Speechless.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I will save you, and if it is the last thing I do.\u201d And then she\u2019d leaned forward, taken his face in her hand and softly\u2014oh, so softly<\/em>\u2014pressed her lips on his.<\/p>\n

She\u2019d gone right after the kiss, telling him he shouldn\u2019t fight the pull of the laudanum anymore and should just allow himself to sleep.<\/p>\n

But he found he couldn\u2019t. He still felt her lips on his, still felt his heart beating quicker, the heat intensifying all over his body. He still felt her lithe body under his hands as he\u2019d embraced her, her trembling and her softness. He still felt her hair tickling his face, her breath on his cheek. Still felt the want\u2014and the shame about it.<\/p>\n

He hadn\u2019t said it back, hadn\u2019t said he loved her, even though he did. He hadn\u2019t said it back, and he was ashamed of that, too. But he couldn\u2019t say it. He\u2019d tried\u2014but the words hadn\u2019t made it out of his mouth. He wondered if he\u2019d ever said them, at any time in his life. He thought he\u2019d loved before, but could he be sure?<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t know how he was supposed to live without the memory of those things. How he was supposed to assess his feelings when he had no memories to compare. How he was supposed to evaluate anything<\/em> if he had no references from his past?<\/p>\n

No doubt, a human being was more than just the sum of his memories. But without knowledge of his history, he felt bereft of his roots, of his base. As if the ground on which he was relying was a spit of quicksand: always threatening to give way\u2014or to swallow him completely.<\/p>\n

Bernadette tried to make him see the good in it. That he might be a blank page but didn\u2019t have to stay one. That he could just grab the chance and fill that page with a completely new story. That he didn\u2019t need an old history to write a new one.<\/p>\n

She was right, in a way. But yet something kept him from writing the first word; something told him it was important to know what had been erased.<\/p>\n

That dream, that ever recurring dream about the stormy sea and the pleading voice\u2014that was important, Adam was sure of it. The person belonging to that voice, that familiar voice, she must be important. Somehow he was convinced that the key to his past lay in that person, that once he reached her, he would recognise her\u2014and know<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Was she the reason he couldn\u2019t tell Bernadette he loved her? Was it that easy? Was there someone else in his life?<\/p>\n

He touched his lips with a tentative finger, brushed over them, then made a fist and pressed it against his mouth. Closing his eyes, he let the feeling of something at his lips wash over him, the memory of Bernadette\u2019s kiss, gave it space\u2026and time\u2026 And then he remembered another kiss. Another kiss, just as unexpected, just as exciting, just as\u2026not-right. And a face: pretty like a porcelain doll, with a heart-shaped mouth and bright blue eyes that stared at him, wide and sad, as if he\u2019d done something wrong.<\/p>\n

She wasn\u2019t the woman from his dream, of that Adam was absolutely certain. The woman from his dream meant a lot; the disappointed porcelain doll meant surprisingly little to him. And yet, her image had come to him as he\u2019d tried to find out if there was someone somewhere waiting for him. Was she trying to tell him that there was no one important? That loving Bernadette wasn\u2019t wrong?<\/p>\n

With that comforting thought he finally gave in to the lure of the drug, and slipped into a healing sleep.<\/p>\n

He started dreaming even before he was completely out, and his last conscious thought was to be surprised he wasn\u2019t caught in the stormy sea again but instead found himself in field of fragrant, full-blown cream-coloured roses. Queen de Bourbons<\/em>.<\/p>\n

__________
\nOne word
\nFrees us of all the weight and pain of life:
\nThat word is love.
\n~ Sophocles<\/em><\/p>\n

*River of pain in the ancient Greek mythology<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u00a0The words given were: camel, race, salt, spit, and freight.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 15<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Crossing Bridges<\/h3>\n


\nBack in the saddle, hallelujah!<\/em> Joe spurred his horse into a short gallop, just for the sake of it, just for the feel of not being restrained, just for a few minutes of revelling in that glorious sense of freedom only a good lope brought\u2014or perhaps a stolen kiss behind the sheriff\u2019s office. Doctor Martin wouldn\u2019t exactly be happy if he could see him right now, and with good reason. Joe\u2019s newly healed side hurt like nobody\u2019s business whenever Cochise misstepped and he had to follow the horse\u2019s movements to balance himself. Spending the day sitting either on horseback or on a hard wooden chair in Billy-Bob Colston\u2019s jail cell and wandering down A Street to the telegraph office hadn\u2019t helped ease the soreness, either. And so Joe allowed himself only a short spurt and reined his horse in before he could actually aggravate his side. Pa kept an ever-vigilant eye on him, and Joe knew that at any sign of discomfort he\u2019d be confined to another round of nerve-grating staying-at-the-ranch-doing-nothing.<\/p>\n

And, honestly, Joe had read enough dime novels, cleaned enough rifles and repaired enough cinches and halters. Had squandered enough time on that danged old settee. He needed to be outside, to be at the fresh air, to see people and places, to do things. To do things and maybe forget\u2014<\/p>\n

No, he wouldn\u2019t. Wouldn\u2019t forget. Not with those dreams about a haunted and lost-looking Adam he still had nearly every night; not with Pa\u2019s face looking older, more tired, more lined each day\u2014ever since two weeks ago, Hoss\u2019s telegram had arrived with the grave news about Juliet and her baby.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d almost<\/em> forgotten it all while he\u2019d talked to Billy-Bob. The man had been a sorry sight: unwashed and with dirty clothes like most long-term jailbirds, he had the shaking hands and the gaunt look of someone who\u2019d been deprived of his usual intake of alcohol for a long period of time and now suffered from the resulting inability to keep food inside. Sitting on his cot with slumped shoulders and his head hanging, his whole demeanour spoke of misery and resignation.<\/p>\n

Billy-Bob had confirmed what Joe had heard from the sheriff already: the miner had lost his job at the Ophir Mine; and even though Joe was determined to talk to Mr. Hamish, the mine\u2019s foreman, or perhaps even ask Pa to do that, he didn\u2019t think it would help much. Maybe Pa would find another way to make sure Billy-Bob would be able to earn his living after having been acquitted of charges. A small patch of land at the outskirts of the Ponderosa, perhaps\u2026<\/p>\n

It hadn\u2019t been easy to convince Billy-Bob that pressing charge against him and then hiring Hiram Wood as defence lawyer was the best choice of action. With Joe testifying for Billy-Bob and Hiram\u2019s well-known ability to make juries see things his way, a non-guilty verdict was as good as guaranteed\u2014but Billy-Bob had not seen it that way. In fact, he considered it another act of \u201cCartwright high- and mightiness\u201d at first.<\/p>\n

\u201cYer thinking y\u2019can jest lock me away ferever, ain\u2019t ya?\u201d he had yelled and leapt up, but Joe stopped him with a dark glance.<\/p>\n

\u201cSit,\u201d he said. It did come out more sharply then intended, and was enhanced by Roy\u2019s hollering from the office to \u201ckeep it down\u201d or he wouldn\u2019t allow Billy-Bob any more visitors\u2014and it made Billy-Bob collapse down onto his cot instantly when what little gumption he\u2019d had left just dissipated.<\/p>\n

He remained sitting there for the rest of Joe\u2019s stay, motionless but for an occasional shrugging of his shoulders and faint flutter of his arms, which might have looked almost comical had it not reminded Joe of a beetle impaled alive on a display needle.<\/p>\n

\u201cBilly-Bob,\u201d Joe tried \u201cit\u2019s not what you think. I don\u2019t want you to go to prison.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen why\u2019re you pressin\u2019 charges?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause it\u2019s the right thing to do. Otherwise\u2026people would think it fishy if we just drop charges. This way it\u2019ll all be fair and square; and you\u2019ll be officially cleared.\u201d<\/p>\n

Digesting this, Billy-Bob chewed the inside of his mouth and considered Joe through narrowed eyes for quite a while before he said, \u201cAnd why\u2019re ya doin\u2019 this fer me, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2026\u201d Joe sighed and fidgeted on the hard stool, partly to find a more comfortable position, partly to stall for time to find out what exactly had made him do it. \u2018Adam would do it that way\u2019 was a valid motivation in Joe\u2019s world, but he knew that others wouldn\u2019t necessarily see it that way. \u201cIt\u2019s\u2026the whole thing…I mean, somehow I started it when I smacked you back then and I\u2026I shouldn\u2019t have\u2026I\u2019m sorry I did it, really.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d Billy-Bob said. \u201cAnd I\u2019m sorry, too, I reckon. \u2019Bout the things I done said then, and \u2019bout\u2026well, \u2019bout shootin\u2019 at ya.\u201d And then he shrugged and flapped his arms and finally looked Joe square in the eye. \u201cI jest wanted to scare ya a little, not\u2014Joe, I\u2019d never hurt a lady.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe had nodded, and then he and Billy-Bob had sat in mutual silence and watched dust particles dance in the small ray of sun coming through the cell\u2019s tiny window.<\/p>\n

Eventually Roy had come and said that Joe had stayed long enough, and that his jail wasn\u2019t a meeting hall. Joe, who\u2019d known he\u2019d been stalling, had left only reluctantly and promised Billy-Bob to stop by again soon. And then he\u2019d dragged himself to the telegraph office like he\u2019d promised Pa\u2014even though he didn\u2019t agree with his father about the content of the telegram he\u2019d been made to send.<\/p>\n

Pa had been devastated by Hoss\u2019s telegram. They both had been shaken by the news, but Pa\u2026Pa had seemed more affected, more struck. He\u2019d blamed himself that he\u2019d not noticed Juliet\u2019s delicate condition, that he\u2019d not held her back\u2014ignoring Joe\u2019s reminder that he couldn\u2019t have held her back because she\u2019d left the house in the wee hours of morning, unseen by anyone.<\/p>\n

Mourning the child that would never live and fearing for the mother, they\u2019d included prayers for both, Juliet and her child, in the blessing before supper every day, but somehow it hadn\u2019t given Pa any peace\u2014not the way it used to. He\u2019d aged visibly in only a few days, sleeping badly if at all, eating too little and thinking too much. Far too much.<\/p>\n

One night, around midnight, Joe had caught him sitting motionless in Adam\u2019s blue chair which he\u2019d moved to stand before the fireplace, staring unseeingly into the embers. He\u2019d hesitated, but just for a spell, and then he\u2019d silently gone and squatted down next to the chair and put an arm around Pa\u2019s shoulders.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou gotta move on, you know,\u201d he\u2019d said softly. \u201cBrooding won\u2019t help you any. We have to keep\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, exactly,\u201d Pa had interrupted him. He hadn\u2019t averted his eyes from the dying fire, as if he\u2019d seen things in there Joe couldn\u2019t. \u201cLife goes on. What happened, happened; and there\u2019s no way we can change it. We can only change what lies ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThis\u2026insanity<\/em> has to stop. Right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich insan\u2014I don\u2019t know what you mean, Pa.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m calling them home, Joe. This family has made enough sacrifices.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJuliet has lost her baby, she\u2019s nearly lost her life\u2014and all for a fruitless search. I won\u2019t allow her to endanger herself more after she\u2019s recuperated. She has to come home and find peace.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPa, you can\u2019t \u2026Adam is out there somewhere, they have to find him!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSon, we have to accept that Adam might not\u2014\u201d He bit his lip, then squeezed out, \u201c\u2026be there anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut Pa\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd if he\u2019s out there, he will come back on his own eventually. After all those weeks, how good a chance do you think they have to find him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want them to give up on him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI want them to stay safe. I want Henry to have a mother, I want Juliet to pick up her life again, I want Hoss to be relieved of the burden to carry them all; I want them to be whole and I want them to be at home, where we can support each other.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe slowed Cochise down to a leisurely walk. No need to hurry, why not prolong being out for a spell? It seemed easier to think out here, as if the open range gave his thoughts wings. Perhaps that was what Adam had meant whenever he\u2019d said he needed to clear his mind and then had ridden away and been gone for days.<\/p>\n

Joe\u2019s thoughts flew back to that night Pa had set his mind. He understood him, but he still disagreed. No matter if Pa said otherwise, abandoning the search for Adam seemed like acknowledging the fact that he was dead, like giving up, like betrayal.<\/p>\n

And even though he\u2019d done what he\u2019d reluctantly promised and sent the telegram as his father had worded it, he fervently hoped that for once Hoss would not obey the words that admitted Pa\u2019s defeat.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u201cNO MORE SACRIFICES STOP COME HOME IMMEDIATELY STOP PA\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss rescued the telegram from Henry\u2019s wet grip and managed to fold it in half and put it back onto the nightstand before the boy could make another attempt at grabbing it again. Henry had obviously developed a taste for paper over the last few days. He crumpled up every piece he could get a hold of, be it a page from a book or a letter, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing happily on it as if it were the most toothsome thing he knew.<\/p>\n

Securing the baby on his lap with one hand Hoss reached down to the floor to where Henry\u2019s newest toy had fallen moments ago, giving him a reason to look for something else to abuse. Ever since he\u2019d discovered that other things than his own hands and feet could be toys, too, Henry had made it his habit to grab everything he could reach and then pick and prod at it, pinch and pluck\u2014before he\u2019d inevitably stuff it into his mouth. Mrs. Milward had finally made him a rag doll, to keep his hands from cups and saucers, silver spoons and, yes, papers.<\/p>\n

Hoss plucked the doll up and handed it to Henry, who snatched it from him with a happy crowing and immediately began to pick at the thick blue zigzag stitches that marked the doll\u2019s overalls before he diverted his attention to its face.<\/p>\n

\u201cDa,\u201d he said, prodding one green eye. Then, looking up at Hoss\u2019s face, he repeated, \u201cDa.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, that\u2019s his eye, ainnit?\u201d Hoss said with a smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cDa.\u201d Henry pointed to the other eye.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019d be the other eye then, little feller.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDa, da, da, da ,da,\u201d Henry cooed cheerfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cShh.\u201d Hoss glanced to the bed beside him. \u201cYer mother is sleeping.\u201d<\/p>\n

Henry considered him for a moment, then leaned back on Hoss\u2019s arm and said very softly, \u201cDa, da, da.\u201d The doll went into his mouth and he chewed upon it with much enthusiasm, making little munching sounds.<\/p>\n

\u201cAtta boy,\u201d Hoss chuckled.<\/p>\n

His eyes went back to the bed where Juliet lay, pale and unmoving, but finally sleeping naturally and peacefully. He\u2019d been keeping vigil over her for long days and nights, watching her fight for her life still and silent, in her own trademark containment. Countless times he\u2019d held his hand under her nose to see if she was still breathing or if she\u2019d gone already, quiet and dignified. Unnoticed.<\/p>\n

Her stillness had perturbed Hoss. From his brothers\u2019 sick beds he was used to flailing limbs, to head throwing and to speaking in the sleep. He\u2019d calmed them after nightmares, held them down when delusions misled them into action and soothed them when they\u2019d talked nonsense. He\u2019d seen them writhe and squirm, and heard them groan and cry.<\/p>\n

Juliet had done none of that. She\u2019d lain there, completely motionless, the rise and fall of her chest too soft to be noticed, and even her breath so shallow that it couldn\u2019t be heard. The doctor had said she was too weak to move, the blood loss too severe, that her body needed every ounce of strength to simply survive. But Hoss had suspected that that wasn\u2019t the only thing that kept her silent: that she didn\u2019t let herself go because a lady just didn\u2019t do that.<\/p>\n

Only once had she woken out of her stupor, and it had scared Hoss nearly to death. It had been in the early hours of morning, shortly before sunrise, and he\u2019d just relieved Mrs. Milward from her night watch when Juliet had suddenly sat up. Her eyes wide, she\u2019d stared into nowhere, her gaze focused, that much Hoss had seen, but on what? And then she\u2019d stretched her arms out, as if she\u2019d been trying to reach what ever she\u2019d seen, and said, \u201cHelp me, Adam. I need you.\u201d<\/p>\n

After that, she\u2019d never woken again. She\u2019d worsened throughout the next few days, constantly getting weaker. They\u2019d thought they\u2019d lost her, not once but several times; and the doctor\u2019s grave prognosis had fuelled their fears: they\u2019d prepared for the worst.<\/p>\n

Taking turns at Juliet\u2019s bedside, they\u2019d made sure she\u2019d never been alone. And so Hoss had been on his own when a kind reverend had spoken a benediction over a tiny mound of earth at the Evergreen Cemetery. It had been difficult enough to find a man of God who was willing to do this small service. To his utter disgust, Hoss had learnt that the contains of the tiny bundle of cloth, that what should have been Juliet\u2019s and Adam\u2019s second child, was not considered a person, not someone with a soul by most people to whom he\u2019d spoken. A clergyman from the Lutheran Seminary finally had shown mercy, and rendered the child the last service. It had given Hoss some peace of mind, and he\u2019d tried to memorise everything of the short ceremony in the hopes that a rendering of his memories would help Juliet to find peace, too.<\/p>\n

It had been Henry who\u2019d made the difference, who\u2019d brought a change in Juliet\u2019s condition\u2014about that Hoss was certain. Mrs. Milward had brought him into the bedroom one day, declaring that he needed to be nursed to maintain the milk supply\u2014and from that day on, Juliet seemed to, well, not really improve, but not longer worsen, either.<\/p>\n

The final breakthrough had come when Henry had made it very clear that he wanted to stay with his mother, and they\u2019d let him sit on Juliet\u2019s bed and play with the rag doll or sleep where he\u2019d wriggled himself into the crook of his mother\u2019s arm. Juliet had finally woken up every once in a while, had been lucid and responsive, and been able to stay awake longer at each time.<\/p>\n

\u201cDa,\u201d Henry said again, and held the rag doll on his outstretched arm up to Hoss face.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, thanks,\u201d Hoss grinned. \u201cI ain\u2019t hungry, right now. Funny as it seems.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then Henry turned around and held the doll out to the bed\u2014and suddenly his face lit up into one of his fat, toothless smiles. \u201cDa,\u201d he cried. \u201cDa, da!\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss had no doubt as to why Henry was so happy. He looked to the bed, and saw Juliet, awake and smiling, her face still showing a sickly pallor but also reflecting the light of Henry\u2019s smile. Hoss helped her sit up propped against a mountain of pillows he placed behind her back, then seated Henry next to her. Henry, obviously happy with himself and the world, waved the doll at his mother and excitedly babbled his \u201cda, da, da\u201d in never ending succession.<\/p>\n

Being able to sit and to stay awake for a longer period of time was an achievement of the past two days, as was Juliet\u2019s ability to eat nourishing food and actually keep it down. And the recovery of her unique talent to jump into uncomfortable conversations without a forewarning at any odd time.<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you sent back a telegram already?\u201d she asked without preamble, while carefully removing the rag doll from the immediate proximity of her face. Then she turned her attention to Henry and, holding his hands and the doll down, said softly, \u201cMummy isn\u2019t up to digesting rags yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

As always, Henry listened intently to his mother\u2019s words, then he leaned forward and reached for her face. She laughed, took his hand and kissed the palm, which made Henry giggle. It didn\u2019t distract her from her inquiry, though.<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. I\u2019m not sure\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot sure? We\u2019ve talked about that, Hoss.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss looked down at his lap where he was kneading his hands. \u201cI\u2019m jest not sure\u2026\u201d He scratched at the back of his neck. \u201cPerhaps we better go home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m in no condition to travel anyway. And when I\u2019ve recovered we\u2019re going to continue looking for Adam.\u201d She looked sharply at Hoss. Her eyes bright from the lingering fever but vivacious, they were a sparkling contrast to her tired face. \u201cOr perhaps I<\/em> will continue searching for Adam. I will not give up.\u201d<\/p>\n

He cringed. \u201cThis ain\u2019t about giving up. But\u2026I think Pa\u2019s right, we\u2019ve made enough sacrifices. You\u2019ve<\/em> made enough sacrifices. I don\u2019t want you to hurt no more.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGoing home won\u2019t stop making us hurt, Hoss.\u201d She held her hand up to stop him from replying when he opened his mouth. \u201cAnd don\u2019t tell me you are not hurting. I know you are. I\u2019m sorry I poured this\u2026\u201d she made a vague gesture \u201c\u2026upon you. And yet I am so very glad you\u2019re here with me\u2026and Henry. I don\u2019t know what I would do without you.\u201d<\/p>\n

He fidgeted on his chair. \u201cIt\u2019s all right\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd I\u2019d be very grateful if you stayed with me. But I\u2019d understand if you\u2019d rather listen to your Pa and go home.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at her. Her face was guileless, and yet\u2026<\/p>\n

And then she winced and her eye grew wide. \u201cGood gracious, Hoss, I\u2019m sorry. I didn\u2019t mean to imply\u2026. It\u2019s just, I can\u2019t\u2026I can\u2019t go back. I can\u2019t stop searching. I know Adam\u2019s out there, and he\u2019s trying to come back\u2026I know that, Hoss. I don\u2019t know why, I just feel<\/em> it. And I can\u2019t\u2026just go and leave him alone. He trusts me to wait for him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t know that,\u201d Hoss almost whispered. \u201cHe don\u2019t even know you\u2019re here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut if he knew he\u2019d trust me to stay.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss head spun. What Juliet said was plain loco, delusional, absurd\u2014and yet, it made sense, in some twisted way.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you doing this for Adam or for yerself, Juliet?\u201d<\/p>\n

She wrapped her arms around herself, pulled her shoulders up, seemed to practically shrink into herself. \u201cFor us both,\u201d she whispered eventually. \u201cFor Adam and for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen it\u2019s decided.\u201d He pried her hands from her shoulders, encompassed them in his hands, her small, pale hands in his big, tanned; and squeezed tenderly. \u201cWe ain\u2019t givin\u2019 up.\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiled, just a trace of a smile, and nodded. \u201cNo, we\u2026ain\u2019t givin\u2019 up<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

__________
\nOnce you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u00a0The words given were: dissipated, impaled, benediction, toothsome, zigzag.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n

Chapter 16<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Burning Bridges<\/h3>\n

\u201cNurse Lemont, a word.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bernadette looked up from the freshly boiled and dried linen bandages she was rolling. \u201cYes, Dr. Mabbs?\u201d<\/p>\n

The doctor opened his mouth, hesitated and looked around the utility room at the other nurses busy straightening up equipment. He pressed his lips together, breathed audibly out through his nose, then started again, \u201cOutside, if you please.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned and left the room, not even waiting for Bernadette\u2019s word of assent.<\/p>\n

Bernadette followed him, of course. Followed him as he strode down the long corridor towards the window where they sometimes seated soldiers who were allowed to get up to give them a change of scenery. Bernadette had helped Adam to the chair at the window the day before\u2014an action that partly had filled her with joy about his new-won ability to stay, if only unsteadily, on his legs and partly had made her dread the consequences of his much-improved condition.<\/p>\n

Dr. Mabbs halted his steps at the window, put his hands on the sill and looked out for a moment before he turned around abruptly. His gaze seemed to pierce into Bernadette for a heartbeat or two, then faded into something she couldn\u2019t fathom. Uncertainty?<\/em> Surely not.<\/p>\n

He straightened his posture, crossed his arms over his impressive chest. He stared at Bernadette, watched her with his jaws working, and then his gaze went down to a spot on the floor, just between the two of them, and he nodded to himself, repeatedly, while his jaws still chewed on nothing at all.<\/p>\n

It was frightening. His silence unnerved Bernadette even more than his usual sneered malice and barely concealed threats did. While Dr. Mabbs\u2019s hostility was something with which she\u2019d learnt to deal, this unfamiliar hesitation was incalculable.<\/p>\n

Clearly, he had something on his mind. And clearly, it would be no good.<\/p>\n

\u201cMiss Lemont,\u201d he eventually started, and even though his voice lacked its usual haughtiness, his low, icy tone ran down Bernadette\u2019s spine like a shiver of foreboding. \u201cI think it is time to discuss your future here.\u201d<\/p>\n

She swallowed even though her mouth was completely dry. She wasn\u2019t able to utter a single sound; all she could do was stare at him. She began to feel lightheaded.<\/p>\n

His smile was poisonously sweet. \u201cAnd about that Yankee-friend of yours, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was darkness creeping onto her from the edges of her vision, tiny black spots that blurred together and started to blot out the light completely. She couldn\u2019t breathe properly, nausea rose up from her stomach, her legs felt like they would give way any second…<\/p>\n

And then there was an arm around her waist, and a hand on hers, surprisingly gentle, and she was guided down.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo take a seat, my dear,\u201d a voice said softly. \u201cHead down. Breathe. In. Out. Deep breaths. There, that\u2019s it. Breathe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m afraid not.\u201d And the bite was back.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

One hand on the iron headboard, one on the mattress, Adam cautiously pushed himself up from the bed. Keeping all his weight on his good leg, he let go of the bedstead and reached for the cane that was propped at his bedside table. He held onto it with a death grip and carefully shifted from his left foot to his right. Leaning heavily on the cane, he tried to support himself as much as possible on it rather than his still unsteady leg. Half disgusted, half embarrassed, he noted that his arm shook nearly as badly as his leg and that he broke into a sweat almost instantly.<\/p>\n

Bernadette had told him to make a show of how weak he still was, of how much his leg still troubled him when he exercised, but, honestly, he didn\u2019t have to make it much of a show: he was weak as a kitten, and his leg…his leg hurt as soon as he put any strain on it.<\/p>\n

He made a step forward, just one, took a deep breath, made a second step. A third. He nearly stumbled upon the fourth, caught himself, and, clinging to the cane, stood; just stood, swaying and breathing through the pain, waiting for his blurring vision to clear.<\/p>\n

The only thing he was aware of besides the pain was the pleasant, genteel voice of one of the town\u2019s ladies reading from Melville\u2019s Moby-Dick<\/em> to one of the other soldiers. Most of the women worked as voluntary nurses, like Bernadette. They cleaned wounds, changed dressings, administered medications, washed patients and fed them if necessary. This particular lady was one of the few who only came to read to the ailing men, to talk or to help them write letters home. Hearing her soft murmur in the background had often given Adam a surprising sensation of peace; and now her recitation of Moby-Dick<\/em> gave him something to hold onto; something on which he could focus, something that pulled him out of the haze.<\/p>\n

He contemplated going back to the bed. Go back to the bed. What an exaggeration.<\/em> He was only four steps away from it. Four steps<\/em>\u2014and if he ever wanted to put a longer distance between himself and that bed, he would have to stay on those darned, shaking legs now and push on.<\/p>\n

Push on. One step, two steps, three steps. Stop and breathe. One step, two steps, three steps. Stop and breathe. One step, two steps\u2014he\u2019d reached the wall. Leaning against it, relishing its solidity, he closed his eyes, breathed evenly in and out, and enjoyed his triumph: it seemed his leg had given up and just accepted that he wouldn\u2019t take no as an answer. The pain, incredible as it seemed, had subsided. It wasn\u2019t gone, but had waned to a tolerable level.<\/p>\n

A tiny voice in his head told Adam that he wouldn\u2019t actually make it the few miles short of two hundred from Charlottesville to Gettysburg like this, but he decided to conveniently ignore it. He might not be healed enough to walk as he pleased, but surely he was considered healed enough to become a prisoner. Dr. Mabbs had been subtle about it, but Adam didn\u2019t make the mistake of misunderstanding the doctor\u2019s hints that he soon would be too well to stay in a Confederate hospital<\/em>. And he had certainly noticed that there was always someone keeping an eye on him when Bernadette helped him outside to the chair next to the window at the end of the corridor.<\/p>\n

Dr. Mabbs might not have repeated his original threat, but Adam knew it still was valid and that he could be transferred to prison any day. It was high time for a second attempt at escape\u2014and this time, he\u2019d better not fail.<\/p>\n

He pushed himself from the wall, and with the loss of its support the pain returned, as did the blurring of his vision.<\/p>\n

\u201cWere this world an endless plain, and by sailing eastward we could for ever reach new distances, and discover sights more sweet and strange than any Cyclades or Islands of King Solomon<\/em>\u2026\u201d reached his ear from the far side of the room, and then there was the image of the girl with the face like a porcelain doll in his head again. She stared at him with those big, bright blue eyes and\u2026<\/p>\n

The smell of the sea, a dark garden, a kiss. Longed for, desired, forbidden, yet savoured\u2026and then, \u201cUm, Fiona, you know I’m going to graduate next year?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

God, he was young, so young. A student.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat’s your dream, Fiona? What do you want from life?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI want to find a man I can love and who loves me. I want a family, children, a nice home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs that all?\u201d<\/p>\n

A silvery laugh. \u201cAdam! Is there more someone can wish for? A happy life, no less. What more could I want? That’s the kind of life I want to live, that’s the kind of wife I want to be: the kind of wife a man would want. The kind of wife you would want, Adam?\u201d<\/p>\n

And his voice again, amazed but firm. \u201cNo, I wouldn\u2019t want that.\u201d<\/p>\n

A slap. His cheek was burning. He knew he\u2019d deserved it; he should never have kissed her. Never.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow dare you, Adam Cartwright!\u201d*<\/p>\n

His hand flew up to his cheek, as if the stinging burn were still there; the cane clattered to the floor. He reached back to the steadying wall, missed it\u2014God, where has the wall gone?<\/em>\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you all right?\u201d<\/p>\n

The lady\u2019s eyes were concerned and green, and her face wasn\u2019t that of a porcelain doll, so Adam felt it safe to let himself be ushered back to his bed by her. She helped him sit down, and went back to fetch his cane.<\/p>\n

\u201cShall I call for a doctor?\u201d she asked upon returning.<\/p>\n

He shook his head. \u201cI\u2019m fine.\u201d And he was. Shaken, yes, but all in all fine.<\/p>\n

She raised an eyebrow, which he found irritatingly familiar, then shook her head, handed him the cane and went back to the other soldier. Soon Adam heard her resume her reading. \u201cAnd besides, when a man is elevated in that odd fashion, he has no proper foundation for his superior altitude. Hence, I conclude, that in boasting himself to be high lifted above a whaleman, in that assertion the pirate has no solid basis to stand on.<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

Whaleman, pirate\u2026 The smell of the sea.<\/em> He\u2019d lived at the coast when he\u2019d been young, had studied there\u2014what?<\/em>\u2014had loved. Adam Cartwright<\/em>\u2014that was he. And Fiona<\/em>\u2026that was the woman he had loved but not\u2026not enough?<\/em> He picked up his notebook and added this new information to the record.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u201cNurse Lemont, do not think I\u2019m not aware of your…affection for this particular patient.\u201d Dr. Mabbs stood tall, but he glanced down at his hands, which were touching at the fingertips so that they formed a triangle.<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Mabbs, I\u2019m not\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not stupid, Nurse.\u201d The triangle of his fingers opened and closed a few times. \u201cAnd I know that you are not stupid, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked up. His tone was different; she couldn\u2019t put her finger on it, but something had changed.<\/p>\n

He actually looked at her, tried to catch her gaze. \u201cLet us speak plainly, shall we?\u201d<\/p>\n

She nodded. Cautiously.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou and I know that our Yankee soldier is ready to leave this hospital any day. He\u2019s clearly out of danger of a relapse; the infection is well under control and his fever non-existent. I\u2019ve done an excellent job on his healing, if I may say so myself.\u201d<\/p>\n

That he had. An excellent job, done by an excellent doctor whose work ethic demanded him to devote that excellence to every<\/em> patient, whether in grey or blue. It wasn\u2019t the attitude of every doctor at the military hospitals in which Bernadette had worked.<\/p>\n

But, of course, Adam wasn\u2019t fully healed yet\u2014and even if he were, she wouldn\u2019t admit it. \u201cHe\u2019s still weak, doctor. He can\u2019t stay upright for long, and his nights are still troubled. I fear\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou fear that I notice just how well he\u2019s recuperated, m\u2019dear.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI…no…\u201d She shook her head.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou fear that I will put an end to his far too prolonged sojourn in this institution.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her mouth worked wordlessly.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou fear that I will arrange his immediate transfer to a prisoner of war camp, where he rightfully belongs.\u201d He let his hands fall and clasped them behind his back. \u201cAnd I am very much in the mood to do precisely that.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Adam closed the notebook. He had recorded a lot of facts already, all seemingly conflicting\u2014but they still had to make sense, still had to fit together somehow like a jigsaw puzzle. He only had to find out how to put it together.<\/p>\n

But that would have to come later\u2014when and if<\/em> he survived, when and if<\/em> he managed to escape imprisonment.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d talked to Bernadette about it, had insisted it was time to make another effort. She\u2019d been reluctant, had reminded him he wasn\u2019t strong enough yet. But he knew he couldn\u2019t afford to wait till his strength fully returned; he knew he would be taken to prison long before then.<\/p>\n

In the end, Bernadette had given in. She\u2019d asked him to wait a few more days to give her time to prepare everything, to make sure this time there would be no unforeseen obstacles.<\/p>\n

No unforeseen obstacles<\/em>, as if there could even be such a thing. Life consisted of unforeseen obstacles\u2014even if Adam had forgotten that, too, his current situation would have reminded him of it. Bernadette had scolded him for being sarcastic, he had reminded her that the way to Gettysburg was long enough to provide a million obstacles, and she had stared at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut we won\u2019t go to Gettysburg,\u201d she\u2019d said. \u201cI\u2019ll take you further north. All the way to Canada, where you\u2019ll be safe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I went to Canada, I\u2019d be a deserter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019d live.\u201d She\u2019d frowned. \u201cWith me.\u201d As if it made a difference.<\/p>\n

\u201cI cannot…I cannot be a deserter, Bernadette. I can\u2019t…I enlisted<\/em>. I\u2019ve signed a contract. I can\u2019t break my word.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam, if you return to your regiment they will just put you back on duty. They\u2019d send you back into battle. You could get hurt again, you could get killed!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBernadette\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd after I\u2019ve fought so hard to keep you alive.\u201d She\u2019d sounded so bitter, but he couldn\u2019t help her.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t just desert<\/em>. I\u2019m no coward.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWould you rather die?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want to die, but I also don\u2019t want to conduct myself dishonestly.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo one would know it. No one knows you\u2019re alive, no one knows you\u2019re here. No one will know<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI would know it. I couldn\u2019t live with that. Bernadette, there are men fighting out there. I\u2019m one of them, I can\u2019t forsake them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMost probably they won\u2019t even send you back to fight. Not with that leg of yours.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re contradicting yourself. But, anyway, it makes no difference.\u201d<\/p>\n

No, it didn\u2019t make a difference. Not then, not now. But he hadn\u2019t found a way to make Bernadette understand that his honour was worth more than his life, that he didn\u2019t want to live without honour. He knew she loved him, she\u2019d told him so many times, but how could she love his life more than his honour?<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Adam had been right. It was time to get away, sooner rather than later.<\/p>\n

Tonight. They\u2019d have to flee tonight. What little strength Adam had regained by now had to be enough. And once she had him outside of the hospital she would make sure they\u2019d head further north, to safety. Adam would recuperate there, and then they\u2019d start a new life.<\/p>\n

But how to make it outside without being held up again?<\/p>\n

Bernadette was aware that she must have been staring, wide-eyed and her face colourless; and somehow she couldn\u2019t escape the feeling that Dr. Mabbs was able to read her every thought right from her face.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know that you two attempted to leave that other night.\u201d The doctor\u2019s softly spoken words seemed to confirm her fear. He crouched down, brought his face at the same level as hers. \u201cMiss Lemont, that man isn\u2019t good for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

She blinked.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe will bring great misery upon you. Disgrace.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe would never\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

He held a hand up. \u201cDisaster, if you prefer. Whatever it is, you\u2019ll get hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will not stand aside and let that happen.\u201d And then he reached for her hand, but pulled back. \u201cNurse Lemont\u2026Bernadette<\/em>\u2026you could do better. You are a very pretty woman, and I\u2026\u201d Averting his gaze from her face, he trailed off.<\/p>\n

\u201cDr. Mabbs, you can\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t let the prisoner escape, and I can\u2019t let him lead you into disaster. I will not allow that.\u201d<\/p>\n

She pressed her hands to her mouth, trying to hold back a sob. There was no reason to hide her distress: he knew she was beaten. She hated him more than ever.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not inhuman, though. I might be able to present an alternative<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked up.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2026I do care for you, Nur\u2014Bernadette. And there was a time I thought\u2026 In any case, I do understand how important that soldier\u2019s safety is for you. Your<\/em> safety is just as important to me, you see.\u201d<\/p>\n

He did try to break through the air of haughtiness that always wafted around him, she had to give him credit for that. He was still crouched before her, with his shoulders slumped forward, his eyes trying but not always succeeding to hold her gaze, and his hands not knowing where to be put. His voice was soft, his words came haltingly\u2014he seemed almost human.<\/p>\n

He took a deep breath. \u201cI believe I have an offer you cannot refuse.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Adam sighed. Bernadette might try and coax him as much as she liked; he would not yield. He would do the honourable thing and go back to Gettysburg in the hope of finding his regiment\u2014and people who knew who he was. In one respect Bernadette had been right, though: it was going to be a hazardous venture. He was sure someone\u2014Dr. Mabbs most probably\u2014was going to alert the military or perhaps the Home Guard. He was going to be hunted throughout the whole journey, or at least as long as he was on Confederate territory. He could be caught, and then he wouldn\u2019t be able to put up much of a fight. He could get himself killed. Could get them<\/em> killed.<\/p>\n

Could he, in good conscience, expose Bernadette to that risk? How could he? He loved her, didn\u2019t he?<\/p>\n

And the image was back: Fiona. The kiss, oh the kiss. So much desire, so much longing\u2014and still so much sense of being not-right.<\/em> He\u2019d loved Fiona, too, and yet\u2026<\/p>\n

His head began to hurt. Fiona and Bernadette\u2026was there a similarity? Was that the reason he kept thinking of Fiona\u2019s blue-eyed face and that improper kiss?<\/p>\n

The kiss, the kiss<\/em>\u2026and then another memory:Adam, I don’t think you are even capable of doing something dishonourable. You never do something you think is wrong. At the cost of your life, at the cost of your reputation\u2014whatever it takes.<\/em> He heard it as if she was standing right next to him loud and clear in his mind, that voice with the genteel clipped British accent. This time the tone wasn\u2019t that of a governess but of someone much closer, someone much more important: there was warmth in it.<\/p>\n

He still didn\u2019t know who she was, but she was right. He might not know who Adam Cartwright was, where he came from, or what he did for a living, but he knew that Adam Cartwright was a man of honour\u2014and the British lady knew that, too.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u201cTonight you and I\u2019ll be on duty. I might be very busy with some administrative work in my office for at least an hour, right after midnight. Too busy, actually, to leave the office for any reasons. And if a patient decides to leave the hospital on his own account, I certainly wouldn\u2019t become aware of it before\u2026let\u2019s say early morning. Sufficient time to be well away from here, even for someone who has\u2026mobility problems.\u201d Dr. Mabbs came to a dramatic pause and watched Bernadette intently.<\/p>\n

She just looked back, stunned.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll that I\u2026request<\/em> is that you will still be here come morning. And that you\u2026stay here. At my side. As my\u2026wife<\/em>.\u201d He paused, just for the moment it took him to clear his throat. \u201cI can offer you everything a woman could want: a house, considerable wealth, a good reputation. A respectable life. It\u2019s up to you. All that\u2019s needed is for you to say \u2018Yes, I do.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

To her utmost surprise, she wasn\u2019t as shocked as she could have been. First of all, it was a chance. A genuine chance, a true chance\u2014the only chance Adam would get. She gazed at her hands. They didn\u2019t tremble, they didn\u2019t sweat. They lay calmly in her lap, palm up, open and relaxed.<\/p>\n

It was Adam\u2019s only chance, and had she not said she\u2019d do anything to help him? That she wouldn\u2019t do anything that brought harm to him? That she would save him, even if it were the last thing she\u2019d do? And now his rescue lay in her hands. She clasped them together and raised them to her heart, then looked up at Dr. Mabbs.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she said, amazed at how little time it had taken her to make her choice. \u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiled. He actually smiled. It didn\u2019t make him more handsome, but it made her think that perhaps he could be more than her custodian for the coming years.<\/p>\n

He took her hand, pulled her towards him. He wants to seal it<\/em>, shot through her head, but she wasn\u2019t ready to surrender, not yet, not as long as she still felt the ghost of Adam\u2019s lips on hers. However, Dr. Mabbs\u2014does he even have a Christian name?<\/em>\u2014only raised her hand to his mouth and breathed a feathery kiss upon it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am honoured,\u201d he said, and it sounded more sincere than sarcastic. \u201cAnd who knows, perhaps, in time you might even come to like me again.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

You never do something you think is wrong.<\/em> It was wrong to go anywhere other than to Gettysburg. You never do something you think is wrong.<\/em> It was wrong to put Bernadette\u2019s life at risk. You never do something you think is wrong.<\/em> It was wrong to allow her any longer to think they could have a life together. You never do something you think is wrong.<\/em> It was wrong to hurt her, but he\u2019d have to do it in order to avoid all the other wrongs\u2014and it would be better to do it now before she gave up her life for him.<\/p>\n

He would go alone.<\/p>\n

He just hoped Bernadette would forgive him one day.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Bernadette hesitated before she opened the door to the hospital room. On her way down the corridor she\u2019d felt absolute calm, a peaceful serenity. Now that she was about to tell Adam she would not go with him, poise deserted her: what had been simple and clear a minute ago, now seemed chaotic and disturbing. She still was sure she\u2019d done the right thing\u2014but she would have to hurt Adam now, and hurting Adam was the last thing she wanted to do.<\/p>\n

She closed her eyes. There was no other way. She had to do it. Had to get it over and done with as quickly as possible\u2014and before she could reconsider her decision.<\/p>\n

And so she entered the room. She headed straight to Adam\u2019s bed in the far corner, passing one of the town\u2019s fine ladies who was reading to a patient. She vaguely perceived that the book was about ships on the sea, and she wondered why a lady who lived in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains had chosen a book like that.<\/p>\n

She forgot that question the moment she arrived at Adam\u2019s bed.<\/p>\n

He looked flushed, as if he\u2019d exercised and overdone it again, and somehow agitated. She wanted to check his forehead for fever\u2014but couldn\u2019t bring herself to do it. She needed distance. She couldn\u2019t touch him, or she\u2019d never\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have to talk,\u201d she blurted\u2014both to prevent him from speaking, and herself from thinking.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou have to flee tonight,\u201d she said without preamble. Well, what kind of preamble could there have been anyway? I\u2019m going to marry Dr. Mabbs in order to make him turn a blind eye on your escape?<\/em> She clenched her teeth. No, those words couldn\u2019t cross her lips. Adam would never allow her\u2026he would never accept that sacrifice. He couldn\u2019t know.<\/p>\n

\u201cI know I don\u2019t have much time anymore, but why tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n

I\u2019m going to marry Dr. Mabbs in order to make him turn a blind eye on your escape\u2014No, no, no<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere won\u2019t be a doctor in the ward tonight, from midnight to one. It\u2019s your only chance. We don\u2019t know when that will happen again, and even tomorrow could be too late. You are well enough to be sent to prison.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAn hour. That should be enough. Even with that<\/em> leg.\u201d He nodded thoughtfully. \u201cI\u2019ll be glad to get onto the cart, though.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe horse<\/em>. There will be a horse.\u201d She turned her gaze to a point half an inch from his frowning face. \u201cI\u2019ll tell you where.\u201d<\/p>\n

She heard him exhale. Then there was a long pause before he inhaled. \u201cI\u2026see,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

She looked back at him. \u201cAdam\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

He still frowned. His mouth worked, wordlessly, and his gaze wandered over her face as if he wanted to read something in her expression\u2014or as if he was searching for words.<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t want to hear it. Whatever it was, she didn\u2019t want to hear it. Not now. Not when she had to talk first.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll have a good lead on whoever will track you. They won\u2019t notice your absence until morning. I\u2019ll make sure of that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Now he just stared. His face was completely unreadable.<\/p>\n

Bernadette took a deep breath, careful not to heave up a sob with it. \u201cI will stay here. I can\u2019t go with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened? Has someone\u2026has Dr. Mabbs\u2026? Are you in trouble?\u201d<\/p>\n

He was concerned. Of course he was: he was Adam<\/em>. He wouldn\u2019t go if he felt she was in danger. Why did he make it so hard for her to not<\/em> hurt him?<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m\u2026all right. Everything is\u2026Adam, it\u2019s not that. It\u2019s just that I realised\u2026that I came to understand\u2026\u201d I\u2019m going to marry Dr. Mabbs in order to\u2026 No!<\/em> \u201cI don\u2019t love you, Adam. I\u2019m sorry, but I don\u2019t. Not\u2026not that<\/em> way. Not the way I thought I did. I\u2019m so sorry, but I can\u2019t\u2026I can\u2019t spend my life with you. It wouldn\u2019t be right for either of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

His face was blank. \u201cIt\u2019s all right,\u201d he whispered. \u201cDon\u2019t\u2026it\u2019s all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

But it wasn\u2019t. Releasing a strangled sob, Bernadette gathered her skirt and fled the room.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

He sat there for a long time after she\u2019d gone, looking at his empty hands, listening to the distant sound of the reading lady\u2019s voice. He wasn\u2019t sure how he felt. He wasn\u2019t sure how he was supposed to feel. He wasn\u2019t sure if he felt anything at all.<\/p>\n

He had nerved himself to hurt Bernadette, but while he\u2019d still been looking for the right words\u2014were there right words<\/em> to use when you hurt a person?\u2014she had gone and hurt him. It shouldn\u2019t hurt, it really shouldn\u2019t considering he didn\u2019t love her that way<\/em>, either, but it did. Rejection always hurt. He knew that. Something told him he\u2019d had his fair share of rejection in the life he couldn\u2019t remember, more than his fair share. Painfully, Bernadette\u2019s words had reminded him of that.<\/p>\n

So he did<\/em> feel something. Hurt.<\/p>\n

And he felt something else: relief. It was just a tiny, low voice, but it was there, undeniable.<\/p>\n

Oh, and shame. He certainly felt shame. Shame for being relieved; shame for not having eased Bernadette\u2019s burden by telling her he didn\u2019t love her that way<\/em>, either\u2014even though she might not have believed him, and, really, what good would it have done to lash out?<\/p>\n

And yet he loved her as much as a man could love a woman without being in love<\/em>, and he would not part from someone he owed so much without telling her that. Taking his notebook from its hiding place, he tore a page out and began to write, \u201cMy dear Bernadette\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Through the window at the end of the corridor, Bernadette watched the sun going down over the mountains. Slowly the terrible feeling of having done something horrible made way for the knowledge that she had done the right thing. The honourable thing. She smiled. Adam, with his talk about honour, should be pleased with her\u2014but Adam could never know what she\u2019d done. What she would do.<\/p>\n

Perhaps it was better that way, not just for Adam but for her, too. Perhaps Dr. Mabbs was right, and she would, one day, come to like him. Love him, actually. Perhaps never the way she loved Adam, but she loved Adam so much that maybe a little less love would still be more than enough.<\/p>\n

And she would, after all, get the life she\u2019d always anticipated: married to a reputable man, well provided for, with her own house, maybe with children.<\/p>\n

Running away with Adam had been, perhaps, only a romantic dream. Something she\u2019d dreamt about when she\u2019d been a young girl and believed that one day a knight in shining armour would come and abduct her from the grim dragon\u2019s den.<\/p>\n

Now she had to laugh. It seemed that she had to rescue her knight in shining armour from the grim dragon\u2014and spend the rest of her life with the beast. Beauty and the Beast\u2026<\/em> Would it turn out be a story with a happy ending?<\/p>\n

Yes, it was better this way, as much as it hurt. And if she was completely honest with herself, she didn\u2019t really believe that Adam was still free. There had to be a woman out there, waiting for him to return; and it gratified Bernadette to know she hadn\u2019t stolen from that woman, and that Adam would find his way back.<\/p>\n

\u201cBe safe, Adam,\u201d she whispered into the red-golden spectacle of sunlight. \u201cBe safe.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

One hundred and eighty miles north-northeast, Hoss Cartwright, who\u2019d nodded off in his chair, woke up with a start. In the bed next to him, Juliet was whimpering in her sleep. Her hands twitched, her shoulders jerked, and she made anguished sounds, none of which she\u2019d done while she\u2019d been in the throes of fever.<\/p>\n

Murmuring, \u201cShh,\u201d Hoss cautiously put a hand on her shoulder\u2014and jerked it back as if he\u2019d touched fire when Juliet suddenly bolted upright, emitting what was almost a shriek.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere,\u201d he said, \u201cdon\u2019t you fright none. It\u2019s all right, old Hoss is here for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet\u2019s hands fluttered in front of her, as if she wanted to grab the air before her, then she turned to Hoss and dug her fingers into his shirt.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s coming,\u201d she whispered.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s coming, Hoss,\u201d she repeated, this time sounding even more urgent. \u201cAdam. He\u2019s coming.\u201d And then she sank limply into his arms, and he couldn\u2019t wake her up again.<\/p>\n

When he asked her about it the next morning, she remembered nothing.<\/p>\n

__________
\nSelf-sacrifice is the real miracle out of which all the reported miracles grow. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

* The incident this refers to took place in Somewhere Beyond the Sea.<\/a><\/p>\n

The words given were confederate, prisoner, surrender, iron, and pirate.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 17<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Night Shift<\/h3>\n

Before Dr. Mabbs had retreated to his office to engross himself in writing order lists, filling in forms and file cards, noting statistical numbers and whatnot annoying administrative bunkum the Confederate Army found necessary, the last patient on whom he had checked had been the nameless soldier with the Yankee accent.<\/p>\n

Mabbs had examined the leg wound one more time, finding it healing satisfyingly. Most physicians would have taken the easy way and simply amputated a leg injured so badly. A Minie ball had destroyed a lot of tissue, shredded muscle, torn the iliotibial band, and finally lodged in the femur. By some miracle it had not completely shattered the bone, yet it had done considerable damage. The soldier must have been exposed to the elements for at least half a day and a full night\u2014sufficient enough time to develop an infection caused by particles of clothing or other dirt the bullet had carried.<\/p>\n

But Bernadette had pled with him not to remove the limb, and both Bernadette\u2019s obvious conviction that he would be able to pull the man through and his own professional pride had made him pick up the challenge and try the almost impossible. And so, having stabilised the patient first, he\u2019d worked on saving as many lives as possible first and then, late at night, come back and performed a little miracle.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d done it to prove to himself that after two years of serving in the slaughterhouses referred to as field hospitals he was still a surgeon worth the title, that he still could heal<\/em> a patient opposed to just keep him alive. And to earn himself another of Bernadette\u2019s admiring glances. Perhaps the latter had even been the superior motive.<\/p>\n

Of course, when the nurse\u2019s appreciative gazes had shifted their direction, when she had started to bestow those looks upon the patient rather than on the doctor, Mabbs had questioned the wisdom of his actions. At one point he\u2019d almost been ready for just allowing the ever-rekindling infection to run its destructive ways. But he couldn\u2019t. He loathed the ailing soldier with a passion, but the man still was a patient, and therefore the doctor\u2019s charge. Dr. Mabbs had not sworn the Hippocratic Oath to violate it at the first possibility and gain personal advantage from that. And that Yankee wasn\u2019t worth compromising his honour over anyway.<\/p>\n

He had done everything in his power to fight the infection, to heal bone and tissue, and to restore as much of the patient\u2019s mobility as possible. There would, however, remain an ugly scar where he had had to remove larger quantities of inflamed flesh that would not just grow back, a garbled mess of welts and protrusions; and the man wouldn\u2019t have full use of his leg for a long time. He would, in a way, have to learn how to walk properly again and how to live with a constant pain\u2014and that would take a very long time.<\/p>\n

Looking down on yet another military form on which he had to meticulously file each ounce of medicine he\u2019d administered over the last week, the doctor sighed. He had given the Yankee a generous dose of laudanum stirred into a small glass of water tonight.<\/p>\n

\u201cDrink up,\u201d he\u2019d said as he\u2019d handed the soldier the concoction. \u201cIt\u2019ll take away all traces of pain. You\u2019ll sleep like a baby.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bernadette, who\u2019d assisted him, had looked up in alarm, but he\u2019d turned away abruptly, to check upon the patient on the next bed, whom he\u2019d thought to have heard moaning. He\u2019d soon found that the man had been perfectly well, and applied his attention back to the Yankee, who apparently had drunk his medicine already, for the glass in his hand had been empty.<\/p>\n

He had redressed the wound, making sure the bandage would not slip out of position even if the patient passed a restless night despite the sleeping drug. He\u2019d instructed the nurse to leave some additional dressings on the bedside table, just in case the patient needed them while he, the doctor, would be unavailable, buried in paperwork and not to be disturbed by trifles; and then he had left the room, heading straight to his office.<\/p>\n

He stared at the form on the desk before him, briefly wondering if the Yankee was on his way out already. He dismissed the thought as soon as it entered his mind. For all he knew, the patient lay in his bed, drugged into a sound sleep. He\u2019d taken every precaution to keep the man where he was until he, now sufficiently healed, would be transferred to prison the next day. He\u2019d done everything anyone could have expected him to do.<\/p>\n

He drummed his fingers on the desk\u2019s dark wood. He was not helping a soon-to-be prisoner escape. He wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

As a rule, Dr. Mabbs did not drink alcohol while he was working. He needed both his wits and his hands working skilfully and precisely\u2014neither he nor his patients could afford any clumsiness, be it of his fingers or his brain. Yet at times, after a particularly strenuous day, he indulged himself in a sip of whiskey when his work was done. For those occasions he kept an earthen jug of old Kentucky bourbon in his desk.<\/p>\n

Stopping the drumming of his fingers, Mabbs leaned down and produced the jug from the depths of the bottommost drawer. A thimble full will do<\/em>, he thought. Just a tiny drop to calm my nerves.<\/em><\/p>\n

He found a small tumbler, only a little bigger than a thimble, and poured a stingy amount of the golden liquid into it so that the bottom was marginally covered. Swirling the drink in the glass a few times and inhaling the luxurious fume, Dr. Mabbs found himself unable to raise the glass to his mouth.<\/p>\n

He knew there were surgeons who wouldn\u2019t hesitate. He had seen them, in the field hospitals, and some even here, where things were supposed to be more regulated: doctors who drank to dull their senses, to block out the smell of blood and death, the moans and cries of ailing, dying men, the memory of their own restrictions, their failures. Men who got so accustomed to the daily inebriation, they drank till the pot was dry, and still needed more. More and more, to numb their anxiety.<\/p>\n

He wasn\u2019t one of those men.<\/p>\n

He poured the whiskey back into the jug, his hands calm and steady, without spilling a single drop and replaced the bottle into his desk.<\/p>\n

No, he wasn\u2019t one of those men. He was a man of honour. A man who knew right from wrong. A man who did his duty.<\/p>\n

And he had not helped a prisoner escape.<\/p>\n

Dr. Mabbs picked up his pencil and finally started to fill in the form about the \u2018distribution and administration of sedative and anaesthetic drugs,\u2019 making sure he recorded the abundantly measured dose of laudanum he\u2019d used on the unnamed patient in room four to drug him into oblivion.<\/p>\n

No, he certainly had not helped anyone<\/em> to escape.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Bernadette Lemont had been a nurse ever since the first weeks of the war they all thought wouldn\u2019t last long. Being a woman on whom the fine ladies who came to read and talk to patients but never soiled their hands with gore and pus looked down, she still was the one for whom the patients cried in the dark of night when their pain became too big and their dreams unbearable. Now she stood hidden in the shadows next to the window at the end of the first floor corridor staring into the night, contemplating her own delusions.<\/p>\n

She wasn\u2019t crying. There was no use in crying: it would change nothing. It was better to accept her fate right now\u2014after all, she\u2019d made her own bed, hadn\u2019t she? Her mistake had been to fall in love; but who would fault her for that? Perhaps she had to be faulted for indulging herself in unrealistic dreams, but she couldn\u2019t bring herself to regret that. It had been good while it had lasted, good and right and wonderful; and now it was over and done with, she had to move on\u2014and never get lost again in fanciful dreams.<\/p>\n

It was as easy as that, and as hard as that.<\/p>\n

Bernadette tried to peer through the night, to get one last glance at what she could never have had, but Adam\u2019s lone figure had been swallowed by the darkness already.<\/p>\n

He had insisted on leaving without her help. \u201cIt\u2019s better that way,\u201d he\u2019d said. \u201cIf I get caught, it\u2019ll be only me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you\u2019re still in pain, and clumsy. You\u2019ll need help getting out of here unnoticed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIf I can\u2019t even get out of the hospital on my own, how am I supposed to make it to Gettysburg?\u201d<\/p>\n

Of course, he\u2019d been right. But still\u2026she\u2019d been reluctant to leave him right then. She\u2019d known she would never see him again, and she couldn\u2019t tear herself from him. Alas, it had to be. The more they tarried and prolonged Adam\u2019s departure, the smaller his lead on possible pursuers would become.<\/p>\n

She\u2019d handed him a bundle of civilian clothes: the same camel-coloured pants as before and a matching, non-chequered shirt.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m glad your choice of pattern is a bit more unobtrusive this time,\u201d he\u2019d said and arched an eyebrow.<\/p>\n

She\u2019d chuckled silently, and declared, \u201cWell, I thought we\u2019d better not attract attention with our gay apparel, should we?\u201d<\/p>\n

It had felt almost like being back to their comfortable companionship, but Adam\u2019s next words had reminded her that there wasn\u2019t a \u2018we\u2019 anymore, only a \u2018he\u2019 and a \u2018she.\u2019<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to be conspicuous enough, no matter what I wear. I\u2019ll have to stay hidden as much as I can. At least until I\u2019m sure I\u2019ve reached Federal territory.\u201d<\/p>\n

She still wondered how he would be able to tell where he was, but he\u2019d seemed confident enough that he\u2019d find his way.<\/p>\n

As she\u2019d discreetly wiped away the small pool of clear liquid on the ground where they\u2019d emptied the laudanum while Dr. Mabbs had busied himself with the other patient, Adam had changed into the new set of clothes. She\u2019d been pleased to see that he\u2019d moved much more smoothly than before, that even putting on the pants hadn\u2019t troubled him too much.<\/p>\n

She\u2019d given Adam a rough sketch of the hospital\u2019s ground and of Charlottesville\u2019s main streets and buildings, a kind of treasure map\u2014only that the cross on it marked the place where a horse was waiting for Adam, not a buried treasure. But then again, that horse certainly was a treasure much more precious to Adam right then than any strongbox filled with gold and gemstones.<\/p>\n

She wished she could have gone with him and guided him through the dark. It was pitch black outside, a moonless night; and it certainly wasn\u2019t as if a star shone down to lead Adam where the horse stood. He could easily get lost or pass by without noticing. The horse was crucial for Adam\u2019s escape; without it he would never be able to put enough distance between himself and the pursuit that would begin come morning. She\u2019d described the way he\u2019d have to go three times and insisted that he\u2019d repeated her instructions. He\u2019d obeyed, smiling, and then assured her he\u2019d be all right.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll only have to make it outta here without being corned by that lovely doctor again. Are you sure he\u2019s not lurking in a dark corner somewhere?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe won\u2019t be a problem, Adam. He\u2014\u201d And then she\u2019d nearly let it all out. A part of her had screamed to confess it all, to beg him to take her with him. But another part of her, a much bigger, much more rational part, had kept her mouth shut and her face impassive and had let her say, \u201cHe will be occupied for a long time. He\u2019s nothing if not thorough with his paperwork.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bernadette looked out of the window one last time. She knew there would be nothing to see, Lord, there hopefully was nothing to see\u2014Adam had left the hospital hours ago and should be miles away already\u2014but somehow she imagined that her heart would be able to go out, pierce darkness and space and reach Adam, making him see that she\u2019d never stopped loving him, that she never wanted to hurt him, and that\u2014that it would be all right. That he would be all right, and she\u2026and even Dr. Mabbs.<\/p>\n

There had been so many things she would have liked to tell him as they\u2019d said their good-byes, things that had had to be left unsaid, and things that should have been said but couldn\u2019t cross her lips.<\/p>\n

\u201cStay safe,\u201d had been all she\u2019d been able to say, nothing else.<\/p>\n

And Adam had whispered, \u201cThank you for my life,\u201d and breathed a chaste kiss on her cheek.<\/p>\n

She sighed, smiling to herself, and finally, sending out a small prayer for Adam, turned away from the window to go and check on her patients. She made her round through the silent hospital, opened every door, looked into every room to find everything as it was supposed to be. The lump of blankets on Adam\u2019s bed would have fooled her into thinking it was occupied by a peacefully sleeping man if she hadn\u2019t known it better. There was no need to inquire more closely.<\/p>\n

Outside, the church bell tolled five times. Her shift was almost over. She smoothed her apron, adjusted her nurse hat, tugged a lose strand of hair behind her ear and knocked at Dr. Mabbs\u2019s office door.<\/p>\n

At his \u201ccome in\u201d she entered the room.<\/p>\n

Dr. Mabbs looked up. \u201cIs everything in order, nur\u2014Bernadette?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, sir. Everything is quiet. No\u2026particular occurrences.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cVery well.\u201d He put his pencil down and gazed at her for a moment, then nodded a few times. \u201cVery well indeed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs there anything else, sir?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. You may go home now.\u201d He harrumphed. \u201cAnd when off duty, if you\u2019re so inclined you might want to call me Robert.\u201d<\/p>\n

All she could do was croak, \u201cI\u2019ll do that, si\u2014Robert<\/em>\u201d and, stunned, watch how his face lit up in a true and genuine smile after that.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Tiredness made Adam shiver. He\u2019d spent hours in the saddle already, and even though riding had seemed familiar to him from the moment he\u2019d mounted the horse, being up and about for such a long time took everything he had\u2014which wasn\u2019t much. After weeks of recovery his body had only just begun to build up strength. He still was thin as a rake, he still tired quickly, and he found himself shaking like a leaf after the smallest exertion.<\/p>\n

If he hadn\u2019t already known that, the walk from the hospital to the outskirts of the town would have proved it to him. Despite the chilly night he had been sweating heavily and struggling for breath as he\u2019d reached the small stable where Bernadette had left the saddled horse for him. The fatigue had overshadowed even the spasms in his leg. In fact, walking had turned out to be painful but bearable. Just as earlier that day, it had seemed that the longer he walked\u2014the more practise he allowed his leg\u2014the steadier it became. How much of his stability had to be accounted to his cane, though, had showed when he\u2019d tried to mount the horse.<\/p>\n

Until that point, their plan had worked out perfectly. There had been a tense last conversation with Bernadette\u2014too short to appropriately express his gratitude, yet too long to avoid awkwardness. Then, after Bernadette had left, he\u2019d waited a few moments giving her time to get herself busy in another room. He\u2019d taken the conveniently provided spare bandages with him, and his little note book, that was all. Bernadette had assured him she\u2019d put everything he would need in the horse\u2019s saddle bags: food mostly, a hunting knife and a blanket. She\u2019d never owned a gun, and thought it would look too suspicious if she bought one, so he would have to go without. He\u2019d left the letter for Bernadette on his pillow. There was nothing in it that could associate her with his escape, only a declaration of his feelings towards her\u2014words he hoped would give her mind a little peace. It was the least he could do.<\/p>\n

As he\u2019d placed the letter, he\u2019d been flashed with the memory of another letter, a bundle of letters, actually, in his hand, and he\u2019d heard his own voice saying, \u201cI wrote these in case of\u2014\u201d Then the letter were snatched out of his hand. He\u2019d seen the hand ripping the letters from him: long slender fingers, delicately manicured yet marred with tiny ink spots\u2014ink spots, again!<\/em>\u2014and heard her<\/em> again, the British lady, who spat \u201cI don’t need your blasted letters, I need you!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

It had been the same voice\u2014Lord, why hadn\u2019t he made the connection before?\u2014it had been the same voice he\u2019d heard in his dreams, the voice that had called for his help.<\/p>\n

There hadn\u2019t been the time to write it down, but he wouldn\u2019t forget it anyway. Not again. It had accompanied him on the whole way, never left him. He\u2019d heard it all the time, over and over again, that desperate \u201cI need you!<\/em>\u201d, \u201cI need you!<\/em>\u201d, \u201cI need you!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

He hadn\u2019t encountered anyone, not on his way through the sleeping building, not on the hospital grounds, not on the road to Charlottesville. It had been almost surreal to walk in the moonless night. While he\u2019d seen only what was in close proximity, had distinguished first trees and bushes, then a few houses and fences only as dark silhouettes, and had felt the way under his feet more than he\u2019d actually seen it, he\u2019d still known exactly where to take a turn, where to walk straight ahead, where to duck and be particularly silent\u2014Bernadette\u2019s accounts had been precise and accurate. He\u2019d found the shabby stable with no problems at all.<\/p>\n

And then he\u2019d had to get on the horse. Keeping most of his weight on his good leg, he\u2019d secured the cane to the saddle. That had been the easy part. But the short moment he had had to put full weight on his bad leg to get his left foot into the stirrup he\u2019d felt a sharp pain radiate through almost the entire limb. Uttering a suppressed groan, he\u2019d clung to the saddle to keep himself upright while the irritated horse had leapt forward and then made some nervous side steps.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhoa, boy,\u201d Adam had cooed. \u201cYou gotta be a little patient with me, I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019d scratched the horse behind its ears, and after a while it had calmed down enough to eventually stand still. Adam had gritted his teeth and tried again, this time prepared for the pain, and succeeded. Until that point he hadn\u2019t given it any consideration how accomplished a rider he might be, but as soon as he\u2019d sat on the horse, he\u2019d felt at home. Moving in harmony with the animal had seemed completely natural, as if he\u2019d done it all his life. Well, apparently not a sailor after all<\/em>, he\u2019d thought wryly.<\/p>\n

The horse stumbled. Adam\u2019s eyes flew open. Instinctively reaching for the saddle horn, he stabilised his seat, found his centre again and prevented himself from falling. He\u2019d nodded off. It clearly was time to take a rest. But had he put enough miles between Charlottesville and himself already?<\/p>\n

He estimated he\u2019d done around 30 miles by then, more than half the way to Culpeper. He had stayed on the straight road leading north-northeast, as Bernadette had advised him. Not that there\u2019d been another way to go: with almost no light he couldn\u2019t ride safely through the completely dark forests. The road had met the Rivanna River twice and then a few smaller streams. As Bernadette had predicted, the rivers were narrow at the junctions and not very deep, and Adam had easily found fords to cross.<\/p>\n

The real challenge would come later, 120 miles further ahead, in the form of the Potomac River. Rumours said the Union Army had built a pontoon bridge somewhere near Berlin only weeks ago, and Adam hoped fervently that it hadn\u2019t been dismantled already.<\/p>\n

And that his horse would play along. It seemed to be a reliable horse, well-ridden and already accustoming itself to its new master, and it had trusted him to guide them safely through the streams. But a pontoon bridge was something else entirely. How the horse would take to a moving surface, Adam couldn\u2019t imagine. Perhaps it would trust him enough by then to at least be led over the bridge, but if worst came to the worst, he\u2019d have to leave the animal behind and make the last sixty miles on foot.<\/p>\n

Even the thought<\/em> of that made his leg cramp. Not that riding itself was very comfortable on his leg, but it certainly was easier than walking. Walking sixty miles wasn\u2019t really an option. He\u2019d have to get his horse over that floating bridge, no matter what it would take.<\/p>\n

Perhaps you better cross that bridge once you\u2019ve reached it<\/em>, he thought wryly and chuckled to himself. He should be able to arrive there in four or five days, maybe even earlier, depending on how good the terrain was. That was the crux, really. Using the road would get him quicker to where he wanted to be but he\u2019d be in danger of being spotted; riding through the woods was safer but the uneven ground would slow down his progress considerably.<\/p>\n

He spurred the horse back into an easy trot. Better make the most of the last minutes before sunrise. He would retreat into the woods then, find a hideaway to rest and eat, and then carry on. For now he needed to make as many miles as possible before anyone noticed his escape and alerted the military. If he was lucky, that wouldn\u2019t happen until reveille, and no one would expect he had a horse. Then the search would start late and be limited to the immediate vicinity of the hospital, to a perimeter of a few miles only. By the time they realised he had means of transportation and send out wanted telegrams to other towns, he might already be relatively safe in Maryland. If Maryland, being a border state, was safe for him at all.<\/p>\n

If he was not lucky, the Home Guard had already been alerted and was chasing him this very minute.<\/p>\n

He couldn\u2019t help but look over his shoulder. There was still no one on the road, but the fact that he could actually see<\/em> that there was no one told him he\u2019d stayed long enough out in the open. The horse didn\u2019t take well to being turned towards the uninvitingly dark woods, though. Flattening its ears and whinnying pitifully it fought Adam every step.<\/p>\n

Finally he brought the horse to a stop, giving it time to calm down. He tried the cooing words that had done the trick when he\u2019d had problems mounting. He didn\u2019t know whether it was the soothing words or the fact that the sun slowly rose in the west, but the horse\u2019s nervousness subsided eventually.<\/p>\n

Taking a deep breath he gently nudged the horse forward into the shrubbery, when he heard a shot and a cry from behind him: \u201cHold it right there!\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t think twice. Digging his heels into the horse\u2019s sides he forced it into a fast trot. Tired as both the animal and he were they wouldn\u2019t stand a chance on the open road, so he went straight into the woods.<\/p>\n

The forest was thick, and Adam was thankful for every single ray of early morning sunlight that made it through bushes and the closely growing trees. As if the horse felt that they were chased by predators it no longer resisted him. Passing so closely to tree trunks Adam’s boots almost scraped them, jumping over small bushes, turning at almost impossible angles, the horse followed Adam\u2019s guidance perfectly. The ground was broken, full of holes and loose stones, and no sane man would urge his horse on like Adam did, but it was his only chance to escape capture. He stood in the stirrups, ignoring the pain that flared up in his leg, trying to balance out the horse\u2019s uneven gait. He didn\u2019t see much of the path, but even if he could see it he wouldn\u2019t be able to dodge most of the irregularities\u2014there just wasn\u2019t enough space to avoid them.<\/p>\n

He brushed past shrubs, ripped his pants on briars and more than once had to duck his head to avoid low branches. On and on he went, with his heart racing and his ears ringing; never daring to slow down and listen to hear if he still was followed, never even looking back for fear that his shifting weight might prompt the horse into a fatal misstep.<\/p>\n

In the end, it didn\u2019t take a glance backwards. Whether from one slipping branch on the ground too many, one grass-covered hole too deep, or one patch of soil too slippery, Adam felt the horse stumble and going over its ankle; he heard the telltale snap of breaking bones. Freeing his feet from the stirrups as the horse collapsed under him, he pushed himself off it with his hands on the withers, and somehow managed to avoid getting trapped under the heavy animal as it hit the ground hard.<\/p>\n

He crawled into the nearest bushes, tried to get up and run but to no avail. He found he couldn\u2019t move, couldn\u2019t make his body work. Could only lie and listen to his frantic heartbeat, to the horse\u2019s pained panicky thrashing, and to the eerie quiet beyond that.<\/p>\n

__________
\nA hurry of hoofs in a village street,
\nA shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark\u2026
\nHenry Wadsworth Longfellow, Paul Revere\u2019s Ride<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

This month’s words were:<\/p>\n

a thimble full will do
\nour gay apparel
\na star shone down
\ndrank til the pot was dry
\nnever get lost again<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 18<\/strong><\/h3>\n

The Bottom of the Pit<\/h3>\n

He couldn\u2019t get rid of the blood. It kept sticking to his hands no matter how often he tried to wipe it off on dew-covered leaves, on small patches of sharp-edged grass, on bare soil. He still saw traces of dried red in his cuticles, under his finger nails, in the ridges and creases of his hands; he still smelled the metallic tang. It was a constant reminder of what he\u2019d done, of what he had had to do. Of what had to be considered a mercy and yet been barbaric and disgusting.<\/p>\n

He hadn\u2019t really thought about the blood before he\u2019d cut the horse\u2019s throat. Then one short and precise incision had severed the jugular and unleashed a fountain of blood, and he\u2019d had to keep the panicked animal\u2019s head down, firm and tender at the same time. It had been over in a few moments\u2014or taken a lifetime, Adam wasn\u2019t sure about that. The only thing he remembered clearly was that he\u2019d stroked the horse\u2019s neck with his thumb while keeping it down, and that he hadn\u2019t loosed his hold for a long time even after it had become completely still.<\/p>\n

While he\u2019d lain there, clinging to the dead animal as if that could shelter him from connecting with the world outside that small cosmos of pain and guilt, yet also of surprisingly peaceful quietness, he\u2019d suddenly remembered another horse that had to be put down. And a pair of eyes\u2026sky-blue eyes, the inherent friendliness of which was overshadowed by desperation. Then a voice, new to his flashes of memory yet so very familiar. \u201cAdam,\u201d it had said. \u201cI cain\u2019t do that. I jest cain\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

And Adam had whispered into the hide beneath him, \u201cIt\u2019s all right, Hoss. I\u2019ll do it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hoss<\/em>. For a moment he\u2019d tried to match that name with a face, but he\u2019d been too tired to waste energy on something that had proven to be futile time and again. He might remember some names and faces, but they all didn\u2019t mean anything to him. He might collect pieces of the puzzle that was his life, but he couldn\u2019t fit them together to one big picture. It was as if no piece matched another, as if they all belonged to different images. And he couldn\u2019t decide which of those pieces belonged to the one image that might have been the key to everything else.<\/p>\n

Eventually he\u2019d become aware of his surroundings, of the chirping of early morning birds, of the rustle of creatures in the underbrush, of the sursurring of insects. Of the sun warming his back, of the morning dew seeping cold through his trousers, and of the stench of sweat and blood that roused him out of his stupor.<\/p>\n

Whoever his pursuers were and whatever had made them lose track of him, they could still be out there. On his frantic race he must have left traces. If the men who\u2019d chased him knew who he was, if they hadn\u2019t encountered him by chance and only followed him because he\u2019d taken flight, if they were really looking for him they would follow his trail. And they would find him, sooner rather than later.<\/p>\n

And so he\u2019d wiped the knife on the saddle blanket, had unfastened the saddle bags and his cane, and set off.<\/p>\n

Searching for a way that wouldn\u2019t be easy to follow, he\u2019d been digging his way through the thickest shrubbery, taking the most broken ground, not caring which direction it led him, ever since. And while the rising sun gave him a vague idea of where he was heading generally, he had no idea how far he might be from the road\u2014or to where he would have to turn to get back there. For all the brightness of the progressing day, he just as well could be stumbling through a coal-black night. Whichever direction he took, his surroundings looked the same, west looked like east, north like south\u2014and he wasn\u2019t immune to the irony of that last thought\u2014as if he\u2019d reached the centre of a green nowhere.<\/p>\n

Moving on was arduous work. Tired beyond comprehension and hurt by every limping step he took, he struggled to stay upright. His bad leg was aflame with pain, his right arm and shoulder hurt from leaning on the cane, his head swam from exhaustion, hunger, and thirst. He didn\u2019t dare to stop and rest for fear of falling asleep, and in the fog in his mind he couldn\u2019t keep track of thoughts like \u201cI need to drink.\u201d<\/p>\n

What little stability the cane provided decreased as the shadows grew shorter, then longer again. More and more he had to zigzag his way from tree to tree to lean on the trunks for additional support. He stumbled over fallen branches, dents and mounds, stones and tufts of grass. Each step he made was a major challenge, each yard he covered a triumph. He didn\u2019t care anymore that it took him ages to force one foot before the other, that he had to stand and catch his breath after each of those strenuous movements, or that he was drenched in sweat. His mind told him to move on. On, on, on, and on. He\u2019d forgotten why or where to or how, he just knew he mustn\u2019t stop.<\/em><\/p>\n

And then he lost his footing. Fell over a rock or a tree stump, over a twig or a leaf, an ant or a grain of sand. Fell like a sack of potatoes, face first, into the dirt. He couldn\u2019t get his arms up fast enough to break the fall, the cane got caught in the brushwood and went flying, and Adam was down before he could see where it landed.<\/p>\n

Not that he cared. As he found himself lying in the dirt, breathless and sweating, tired and hurting, he stopped being concerned about anything. It didn\u2019t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. It was over. Time to give up, Cartwright.<\/em><\/p>\n

There, his name finally came naturally to him again. But that was all\u2014all that was left. He might know his name now, but other than that he was just as lost as he\u2019d been when he hadn\u2019t remembered anything. \u201cA babe lost in the woods\u201d Bernadette had called him once, and he\u2019d laughed. Back then it had seemed amusing. Now he actually was lost in the woods\u2014and weak and helpless as a baby.<\/p>\n

He was finished. There was no way he could force his aching body another single inch forward. He needed to sleep, to rest, to recover\u2014but if he did his hunters would find him. If he was lucky they would string him up on the nearest tree instead of taking him back to Charlottesville to let him rot away in prison.<\/p>\n

And if by some major miracle his pursuers had given up already or lost track of him, how was he supposed to make it to Gettysburg? Even if he got some rest, even if his leg hurt a little less after some sleep, he wouldn\u2019t be able to cover 150 miles or so without a horse\u2014and he wasn\u2019t even sure that he would managed it if he had one. Every improvement in his leg he had thought he felt earlier in the day certainly had turned out to have been an illusion. If he was to make it to Gettysburg\u2014or anywhere\u2014then it would be on a cart.<\/p>\n

He was tired. Lord, he was so tired. To sleep, to die\u2026<\/em> flashed through his mind. To sleep\u2014perchance to dream<\/em>. He closed his eyes.<\/p>\n

And if he just slept? Slept and woke up hours later, better rested, less aching, and no longer hunted? He would need help to make it any further. He was lost in the middle of nowhere, and he couldn\u2019t carry on without help. He snorted. Turned laboriously onto his back and squinted into the clutter of sunlight and shadows, of sky and leaves high above him. No one would find him here. No one. And even if\u2026. He would need a whole streak of luck to be found, and found by someone who would be willing to help an escaped prisoner of war. And luck\u2026luck didn\u2019t seem to be his best friend right now.<\/p>\n

A soft breeze moved the leaves in the tree crowns. Adam watched the play of light and darkness. No, he wasn\u2019t delusional enough to hope he would be found by some friendly people. On the contrary, he hoped he wouldn\u2019t be found at all. Wasn\u2019t it enough that he\u2019d endangered Bernadette with his escape? Helping him would cost her dearly if it ever came out. Could he with a clear conscience accept any more help from anyone?<\/p>\n

He closed his eyes again and sighed. No, he couldn\u2019t drag more people into this. His life wasn\u2019t worth the sacrifice of others\u2019. His life wasn\u2019t worth\u2026much. Or was it?<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t care. Too tired to even think, too exhausted to roam his scattered memories, he just wanted to sleep\u2014preferably for\u2026ever.<\/em><\/p>\n

The saddlebags had landed only inches from his shoulder as he\u2019d fallen. He reached out without looking, rummaged in them, and found the knife. There still were traces of the horse\u2019s blood on the blade, crusted and dry now; they looked as if they\u2019d been on it since the knife had been forged. He wiped the blade on his shirt.<\/p>\n

Not that it mattered whether the knife was clean or not. Only it did matter. Somehow.<\/p>\n

The blade caught a glittering spark of sunlight, its reflection dancing on the greenery as he turned and twisted the knife. A clean blade for a clean cut.<\/p>\n

A man\u2019s skin would be much easier to cut up than a horse\u2019s. A man\u2019s blood would run out much faster than a horse\u2019s. A man\u2019s life would end much more smoothly than a horse\u2019s.<\/p>\n

He brought the blade up to his throat. Used the tip of it to scratch his jaw where a running bead of sweat tickled him.<\/p>\n

Hesitated.<\/p>\n

Pressed the edge of the blade against the soft skin of his neck just above the collarbone.<\/p>\n

Waited.<\/p>\n

To sleep\u2014no more\u2014and by a sleep to say we end the heartache\u2026.<\/em> The added pressure brought relief, and hope. The promise of a dreamless sleep. Peace.<\/p>\n

Now.<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u201cThe point is, Mrs. Cartwright, that there aren\u2019t many military hospitals left here in Gettysburg.\u201d Surgeon Major Harrington tried to keep the impatience out of his voice, but he was aware that he wasn\u2019t doing a very good job with it. \u201cMost casualties are healed by now. Those who are not will be evacuated to Washington and Philadelphia within the next weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen we have to hurry and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWith all due respect, ma\u2019am: no.\u201d<\/p>\n

She blinked. Frowned. Shook her head.<\/p>\n

Her brother-in-law gave her a worried glance. He\u2019d done that a few times already, and Harrington thought the man had every reason to do so. The lady looked as if she\u2019d been ill recently: deadly pale, her face almost haggard, her clothes fitting a little too loosely, her hands trembling when she didn\u2019t clasp them. Interestingly, that didn\u2019t make her look frail. As she sat there opposite him, straight and upright, her chin slightly raised and her jaw decisively set, she couldn\u2019t have appeared more imperious if she\u2019d been perfectly well. And her tone matched her air perfectly. \u201cI\u2019m afraid, I don\u2019t understand, Major.\u201d<\/p>\n

Surgeon Major Harrington had been trained to command men, to deal with undisciplined soldiers, insubordinate orderlies, and ill-tempered superiors, and with enemy fire. Not with persistent women. And certainly not with distressed women. He would, however, try his best.<\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am,\u201d he started, cautiously avoiding her piercing gaze. \u201cI don\u2019t think further searching for your husband will make much sense. If he were in one of the remaining infirmaries we\u2019d know of it. The same goes for any other hospitals he could have been taken to. We would know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou would?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have lists.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLists.\u201d It was amazing how much doubt she could put into one single word.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, lists.\u201d Well, he could be imperious, too. This was a question of honour. \u201cThe Army of the Potomac is very well organised. We have lists of all our wounded. And of all our soldiers who were taken prisoners by the reb\u2014by the Confederates. Your husband is on neither of them.\u201d<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t understand. No, she didn\u2019t. That was plain to see. The big man beside her seemed to have a vague premonition, but he didn\u2019t say a word. Harrington sighed. He didn\u2019t like it, but someone had to say it\u2014and apparently he had to be that someone.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, Mrs. Cartwright, you have to\u2026understand<\/em>. It has been more than two months since the battle. If your husband had been treated in any of our hospitals, we would know it. If he\u2019d been taken prisoner, we would know it. But we don\u2019t\u2014and that means that he\u2026that he is gone.\u201d<\/p>\n

She frowned. Her brother reached out and took her hand. Harrington saw her struggling against his grip, trying to pull her hand away, then giving up.<\/p>\n

She didn\u2019t say anything, she just looked blankly at him.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s fallen, Mrs. Cartwright. There\u2019s no other explanation.\u201d<\/p>\n

No reaction.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe died a hero, Mrs\u2026. \u201d He took a deep breath. He didn\u2019t want to fob her with platitudes, but platitudes were all he had to offer. They were all he\u2019d been trained to provide. And so he rushed to deliver them all. \u201cHe died a hero, fighting for his country. For the unity of this great land, and for the equality of all men. Perhaps that will be a comfort for you: that he didn\u2019t die in vain but to ensure a great victory that will lead to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRubbish.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPardon?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s\u2026ridiculous.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou do have lists of the wounded and of the imprisoned, do you not? You surely have a list of the fallen, too, don\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIs my husband on that list?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, but\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen we don\u2019t know if he\u2019s dead, do we? There\u2019s no proof.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut the only logical conclusion\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t accept that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am, you have to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow, Juliet\u2026\u201d Cartwright spoke up the first time since his initial \u201cHowdy, Major,\u201d but the lady silenced him with a sharp look.<\/p>\n

She sat up even straighter than before; and Harrington could see how she deliberately squared her shoulders. \u201cI want to talk to General Schurz,\u201d she said. \u201cNow.\u201d<\/p>\n

Harrington frowned. \u201cMa\u2019am, that\u2019s not possible.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what you told me two months ago, too. But I won\u2019t take no for an answer this time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMrs. Cartwright, you can\u2019t talk to General Schurz because the general isn\u2019t here anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe isn\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMost of the Army left Gettysburg in early July. Surely you must have noticed that, ma\u2019am. Naturally, General Schurz went with his corps.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo he was gone already the first time I inquired after him? Why didn\u2019t you tell me back then?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt the time that information was confidential.\u201d<\/p>\n

She gave him an annoyed look. As if the idea that any information could be withheld from her was an insult in itself. \u201cWhere is he now?\u201d she demanded.<\/p>\n

\u201cI can\u2019t tell you.\u201d Harrington took care to lace his words with all the authority his position as commanding officer gave him. \u201cThat information is con\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

She wasn\u2019t deterred. \u201cDon\u2019t think you can cow me into refraining from further inquiry, Major Harrington. And don\u2019t take me for a fool. The newspapers say the Army has been following Lee to the south. They have crossed the Potomac and are advancing into Virginia. I assume that is correct?\u201d<\/p>\n

Harrington took a deep breath. \u201cMa\u2019am, please. I do not take you for a fool, most certainly not. But I am not entitled to share information that might be war-deciding. I can\u2019t tell you anything beyond what\u2019s in the newspapers. Which is, indeed, correct.\u201d<\/p>\n

She nodded. And surprised him. \u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am,\u201d he tried again. \u201cEven if you were able to talk to General Schurz he wouldn\u2019t tell you anything other than I\u2019ve told you already. Your husband is dead. The wounded were identified, the captives were identified. But not all the fallen were identified. Many were buried on the battlegrounds, many were\u2026unidentifiable. The list of the fallen is the only list that\u2019s not exhaustive.\u201d<\/p>\n

She shook her head. \u201cNo\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Harrington sympathised with her. Of course, she was refusing to face the truth; but the sooner she would accept the unthinkable, the sooner she could start to cope with it, to heal. He glanced at her companion, his eyes silently begging for assistance. But Cartwright\u2019s eyes didn\u2019t seem to see anything. He, obviously, had accepted the truth already, and was fighting for composure.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am very sorry, ma\u2019am, sir. But be sure, your husband, your brother served\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe isn\u2019t dead.\u201d Suddenly she stood. Very tall, very upright. \u201cI know he isn\u2019t\u2014\u201d She gasped, clutched her chest. Her eyes lost focus, what little colour she had drained from her face, her mouth worked wordlessly. She swayed.<\/p>\n

Cartwright leapt to his feet and caught her before she fell. He eased her back into her chair. \u201cJuliet, you cain\u2019t go on like that.\u201d He was a big man, tall and broad. But his voice was soft and tender\u2014as if he were talking to a small child. \u201cYou\u2019re making yerself sick again.\u201d<\/p>\n

She accepted the glass of water the major handed her with a nod and a weak smile, and drank while Cartwright hovered over her, supervising her cautious, tiny little sips.<\/p>\n

There was something intimate in that scene, as if they were in their own private bubble, and Harrington felt like an intruder watching it. He looked away, down at his hands, at the papers before him on the desk. A case sheet, the chart of a patient who\u2019d had his leg amputated weeks ago and who was still fighting an infection of the stump. One of those patients who would have to stay for some more weeks until they could be transported to a permanent hospital in the bigger cities.<\/p>\n

There were so many of those men. In the first days after the battle they had had to care for 21,000 wounded. A good hundred physicians for 21,000 injured men. Harrington didn\u2019t want to think about the percentage of men who\u2019d died in their care. There were so many they had healed or to whom they still were tending, and he would rather focus on them.<\/p>\n

The Army had been long gone, but the medical corps was still picking up the pieces, and sometimes Harrington feared that they hadn\u2019t got a dustpan big enough to gather all the shattered remains. Having to deal with Mrs. Cartwright and her brother-in-law made him realise once again that cleaning up the mess the war left behind would entail much more than just healing the wounded.<\/p>\n

The glass being placed onto the desk made Harrington turn his attention back to his visitors. Cartwright was crouching before his sister\u2019s chair. He was holding both her hands. \u201cLet\u2019s go home,\u201d he said. \u201cHome<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

The lady still looked as if she\u2019d seen a ghost. Her voice was a mere whisper, and yet there was a determination in it that Harrington found hard to resist.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is not the end, Hoss,\u201d she said, shaking her head. \u201cIt can\u2019t be.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

More pressure. Just a tiny bit more, just a whit beyond the comfortable. Breaking skin, and then more and\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201c… end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, \u2019tis a consummation devoutly to be wish\u2019d.\u201d Had he said it aloud? Perhaps.<\/p>\n

But perhaps it had been only in his mind, just as her<\/em> voice was now.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd just because Marlowe has said that, you think I\u2019ll accept it?\u201d <\/em>she said. Her voice the same soft, pleasant alto he\u2019d heard before. The same sophisticated, precise diction. The same clipped British accent.<\/p>\n

Only this time he remembered how he had answered. \u201cIt was Shakespeare who said that, Juliet.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Marlowe, Shakespeare, whatever you call him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, whatever you call him. I prefer Shakespeare though; and I just love his immortal words: Come live with me, and be my love; and we will all the pleasures prove that hills and valleys, dales and fields, woods or steepy mountain yields.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNow that is really Marlowe, Adam!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Marlowe, Shakespeare, whatever you call him, Mylady.”<\/p>\n

He actually felt her. Felt how he held her tightly to his chest with her face buried in his shoulder, and how she trembled with silent laughter. Felt more than he heard her whisper, \u201cSay it again, Adam.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cSay what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe…immortal words.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome live with me, and be my love…\u201d<\/p>\n

He remembered how content he\u2019d been then. He remembered<\/em>.*<\/p>\n

And he remembered more: her eyes, green, dark with worry, and deep as the ocean; and a whisper. \u201cPromise me you\u2019ll come back.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cYou know I can\u2019t promise that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen promise me you\u2019ll try.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will. I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then a kiss. He remembered the kiss. Passionate and hungry, long, savouring. Right.<\/em> No regret, no guilt, no reservations. Just love. Home. The place where he belonged, his destination. His\u2026Juliet.<\/p>\n

And then a flood wave of images washed over him. Sparkling green eyes, kind and tender first, then stormy and passionate. A shower of faint freckles on pale cheeks, a stubborn set jaw, soft red lips; a waterfall of dark golden locks on crisp white bed linen, long, slender fingers, ink-stained, ghosting over his dark chest hair, his navel, and further\u2026 The same elegant hands holding a book, a pen, a teacup, gesturing animatedly, tending to a newborn. The black-haired baby nursing on a creamy breast, sleeping peacefully in a Moses basket, kicking his arms and legs: Henry, his son. Snippets of conversations: \u201cI see you and me together. And that’s the most beautiful thing I can imagine.\u201d \u201cWe\u2019ll be late…\u201d \u201cOh, I most certainly hope so.\u201d \u201cThis isn\u2019t your war, Adam.\u201d \u201cWhat about Henry? What about me? Us?\u201d<\/p>\n

And he remembered it all. He remembered.<\/p>\n

\u201cForever,\u201d he\u2019d said as he\u2019d kissed her for the last time. Her. Juliet. His wife. His love and his anchor.<\/p>\n

And she\u2019d whispered it back, that promise: \u201cforever.\u201d<\/p>\n

Reluctantly he pulled himself out of the memories\u2014his<\/em> memories\u2014gathered the saddlebags, stored away the knife. He looked around, spotted a place to his right, a patch of flat ground covered with grass and moss sheltered by a large elderberry bush. He would go looking for his cane later, when he was rested. For now he was content with stretching out on the soft ground and giving in to the overwhelming desire for sleep.<\/p>\n

He closed his eyes and let himself slip back into the sea of memories, where he was welcomed by the face he\u2019d hoped for, so familiar he couldn\u2019t believe he\u2019d ever forgotten it. Juliet\u2019s left eyebrow was raised and she displayed that endearing lopsided smile as she greeted him, \u201cWell, it\u2019s about time, wouldn\u2019t you say?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her silvery laughter gently escorted him to sleep.<\/p>\n

__________
\nMemories and dreams are precious things, Adam. They’re always there when you need them most. ~ Ben Cartwright in \u201cElizabeth My Love\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

*He remembers the epilogue of The Art of Setting Priorities<\/a><\/p>\n

This month’s words were cow, luck, coal, dustpan, and footing.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 19<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Smile, Fortuna!<\/h3>\n

He slept. Woke up, drank one, two sips from his canteen, ate a small amount of the grub he found in the saddle bags, probed at his red-swollen leg, listened to the buzzing quiet of the forest, then fell back into slumber. At times he woke to moist darkness, then to blazing hot brightness.<\/p>\n

And he dreamt. Dreamt of a big ranch house surrounded by giant pine trees; of cattle, huge herds of cattle grazing on rich, green pastures; of horses in a corral, and of himself, breaking a wild sorrel. Dreamt of people: men on horses, women in a busy street, ranch hands, a sheriff with a silly moustache and friendly eyes, a doctor with a soothing voice, an old lady with a frilly dress who said \u201cyoung chap\u201d to him; of sky blue eyes under a ten-gallon hat, of an infectious giggle, and of a strong, reassuring hand on his shoulder.<\/p>\n

He wasn\u2019t always sure if he was dreaming or waking, found himself often reaching out into empty air to keep an image from fading away, a person from leaving, or even a sound from decaying, devastated at the loss of a happy memory: the touch of a soft hand or the sense of being where he belonged. Other times he was relieved to find himself able to leave a particularly horrid vision and wake up in his green refuge.<\/p>\n

Once or twice he thought he heard the rustle of underbrush, the distant sound of shouts, hoof beats, gunfire. But whether in his dreams or in reality, of that he couldn\u2019t be sure\u2014and in all honesty he didn\u2019t care, either. Whenever he was completely lucid and aware of his whereabouts, the air around him was warm and quiet and the grass beneath him soft and pleasantly fragrant. And that was all he needed, all he desired.<\/p>\n

He lost track of how much time passed by. Not being able to accurately distinguish dream from reality made counting the changes from light to darkness and back useless anyway. He let himself drift, caring just for the most basic of needs, and felt his sense of security grow as he slowly metamorphosed into a somewhat natural component of the woods. His presence didn\u2019t seem to disturb the forest\u2019s balance anymore\u2014he felt indiscernible.<\/p>\n

Eventually he woke up to crisp morning light, alert and fully aware of his surroundings, of the fact that he, indeed, was not dreaming anymore. He pried himself free of the blanket in which he must have entangled his legs during one of the more violent dreams and, stretching his arms and back, sat up. The persistent ache in his shoulders and neck had abated, the pain in his leg subsided to a tolerable level. His weariness had given way to a sensation of cautious optimism. To say he was well and rested would have been an exaggeration, but he was feeling\u2026capable of dealing with himself and the world again.<\/p>\n

Determining that his first concern had to be his well-being, for everything depended on his ability to function, he made a quick survey of his provisions. Bernadette had stocked the saddle bags well: there were strips of beef jerky, some apples, a half-empty packet of hardtack. He must have lived on the other half those past few days\u2014which explained the almost empty canteen, and the dryness in his mouth.<\/p>\n

He sighed, then resigned himself to a breakfast of hardtack and apple. The biscuit didn\u2019t get any softer or juicier, but it seemed to go down easier when combined with bites of the sour fruit. He had visions of flapjacks covered in honey and then of two men sitting at a dinner table, a pile of pancakes between them. \u201cHey, Joe, gimme another pancake\u201d and \u201cJoe\u201d threw one, exactly hitting the other\u2019s held-out fork. He remembered the men\u2019s faces from his dreams, they seemed familiar\u2026he couldn\u2019t put his finger on it, not quite, not yet, but he was sure\u2026very sure that he was close to it.<\/p>\n

Sloshing the water in the canteen, he decided to use some of the sparse leftovers to clean the wound on his leg. The bandage was crusted with a yellowish clot, and he had to dampen it to be able to pull it off without causing new damage. The upper leg was still slightly swollen, warm to the touch and a little red. The newly grown skin on the huge wound area was tender, discoloured in vivid red and angry violet, and in some places broken-up and seeping clear fluids. Dr. Mabbs had said that it wouldn\u2019t get much better, that with time the colouring would fade into a more natural shade of pink, and the breaks would heal, but that the cratered expanse of scar tissue would remain for ever. All he could hope for, so the doctor had said sounding almost pleased<\/em>, was that the skin would become more elastic eventually, softer, less taut, less irritable, and perhaps\u2014perhaps<\/em>\u2014a little more even.<\/p>\n

With a fresh, moistened bandage Adam carefully sponged the secretions away, then redressed the wound. Buttoning up his trousers, he smiled wryly. There certainly were more pressing matters concerning him at the moment than the disfiguration of his leg: find water to refill his canteen, for example, find food before he ran low on vittles, find a way back to the road, find the strength to make it to Gettysburg.<\/p>\n

The first would be easily achieved. This part of the county was crisscrossed with rivers, creeks, and brooks\u2014it was what made it green and lush. On his way through the forest Adam had stumbled through countless small rills, and he was sure that whatever way he chose he\u2019d come across another streamlet soon. Finding food would be more of a problem. His provisions wouldn\u2019t last forever, he had no gun to shoot game\u2014and he couldn\u2019t make it another 120 miles on a diet of blackberries.<\/p>\n

The road\u2026the road had to be east. He\u2019d left it turning west, which meant he had to go east to get back to it. The sun was still rising, there was no question where east was. Piece of cake.<\/em><\/p>\n

And finding strength? He nearly laughed. Strength.<\/em> A man had to do what a man had to do, and that was that, wasn\u2019t it? Strength. What little of it he\u2019d built up those last few days at the hospital had been exhausted by his frantic flight through the forest, and the sleep after he\u2019d collapsed hadn\u2019t given him much back, even though he must have rested for two days at least. For all that he had thrown off that all-consuming fatigue, after conducting the simple tasks of eating and refreshing his bandage, his hands were already trembling from the strain and he felt sweat prickling under his clothes. No, there wouldn\u2019t be much strength for him to find\u2014rather than on strength he would have to depend mostly on determination.<\/p>\n

Now he did<\/em> laugh. He winced at the croaky sound, but he laughed. Determination<\/em>. Determination he possessed in abundance.<\/p>\n

\u201cPromise me you\u2019ll come back.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cYou know I can\u2019t promise that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen promise me you\u2019ll try.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will. I promise.\u201d<\/p>\n

Yes, determination. He had promised her. Back then, as they had parted, and over and over again in his dreams. He closed his eyes and saw the image again, that one memory that had arisen in his dreams time and again, had pushed itself forward to the front of his mind, and had always imbued him with love, with desire, need, lust: Juliet, standing naked with her emerald ball gown pooled around her feet and her hair flowing down her back, her chest heaving, her eyes dark with want; her creamy, almost translucent skin an alluring promise of softness and her half smile an invitation to take<\/em>\u2014and to be at home.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will,\u201d he said out loud. \u201cI promise.\u201d And then he shouted it into the woods: \u201cI will!\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Over the day, however, he wore out almost all he had, drew upon his last reserves\u2014both of strength and determination. Racing his horse through the greenery until its collapse had gotten him deep into the forest, and making the way back on his own two feet\u2014or three, as he thought wryly, since the cane should be counted, too\u2014naturally took him much longer. He tried to pace himself, made sure to take a rest, eat, and drink from the newly filled canteen whenever he was slowing down, whenever his leg protested too much, whenever he found himself meandering along rather than walking straight on. As the day advanced, though, he felt his energy waning. It took more and more effort to get up again, to stay upright, to put one foot before the other, to ignore the ever-present pain.<\/p>\n

But\u2026the road<\/em>. He wanted to make it back to the road, at least<\/em> back to the road\u2014no matter how far that might be. Orientating by the sun, he hoped he was heading straight to the road. He did not encounter his dead horse on the way\u2014a fact of which he was shamefully grateful\u2014but considering the heedless zigzag he\u2019d taken after he\u2019d lost his mount it wasn\u2019t surprising. And yet, coming across the carcass would at least have confirmed he was going in the right direction.<\/p>\n

The road,<\/em> he started to chant inwardly at some point, always in time with his strides. The road, the road, the road.<\/em> It kept him going, kept his steps steady, kept his mind distracted from the fact that he was bone tired. The road, the road, the road. The road, the road, the road. The road, the road, the road…<\/em><\/p>\n

In the end he nearly didn\u2019t notice finding the road. The sun stood low already, the trees cast long shadows: dusk was approaching fast, and Adam decided he\u2019d gone far enough for that day. Road or no road, he was done in. He had to find a spot with a soft mattress of grass and a sheltering bush, somewhere to rest safely, to stay the night, to restore his energy, his strength\u2014and his determination\u2014and then move on the next morning.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d just spotted the perfect place when he heard the shot. Suppressing the urge to bolt back into the depths of the forest, he let himself slide to the ground and then lay still and listened.<\/p>\n

The shot had come from not too far off, yet there hadn\u2019t been the impact of a bullet anywhere close to him. Whoever had fired had not aimed at him. He had not been discovered.<\/p>\n

Where there was a gun, though, there was a person, and where there was a person there possibly was a trail, a path to the road\u2014or even the road itself. And so he braced himself on arms and knees, and carefully crept towards the direction from which the shot had come. He covered only a few yards, then paused and listened, crept onwards, paused and listened again.<\/p>\n

Then he heard a man crying out in pain, and godless swearing.<\/p>\n

Getting back on his feet and into a crouch, Adam squinted into the green. He saw shadows behind the bushes, silhouettes, colours that didn\u2019t belong to the woods. As he cautiously moved closer to those shadows, he made out more voices, faintly lamenting, from people in pain, in distress. Then there was begging: \u201cMassa, please\u201d and a bark: \u201cShut up, vermin! Shut up, or I\u2019ll end yer misery jest here\u2019n\u2014Goddamn it!<\/em>\u201d The curse merged into another howl of agony.<\/p>\n

Eventually there was only a thick shrub separating Adam from the source of the voices. Leaving the saddlebags on the ground behind the bush, he drew himself up, clasped the knob on his cane tightly, stepped out of the greenery into the open and found that he, indeed, had come upon the road.<\/p>\n

Before him, a wagon lay tilted onto its side, the tail of the broken tongue looming into the air, its dark silhouette a stark contrast to the waning day\u2019s purple lit sky. Pieces of broken wheels were shattered over the dusty road; remnants of a fractured axle, two almost identical fragments, lay at a tidy right angle to each other next to the cart. The wagon\u2019s bottom was burst, the side planks smashed.<\/p>\n

The only thing still intact was the iron cage the wagon had carried. It lay amidst the wreckage, its bars still shaping a stout cube, its door still closed, its lock still shut. In the cage Adam saw people. Three men, two women, bleeding from cuts and scrapes. One woman was cradling her arm to her chest, the other was trying to staunch the blood flow from a wound on one of the men\u2019s cheek with a scrap of her ragged skirt\u2019s hem. They all were staring at Adam, wide-eyed.<\/p>\n

He made a movement towards the cage and the people\u2014Lord, who puts humans into a cage?<\/em> Oh, he knew who did such things, knew it darn well, didn\u2019t he?\u2014but was stopped in his tracks by a barked order.<\/p>\n

\u201cHold it.\u201d<\/p>\n

He froze, then turned slowly to the other end of the wagon\u2019s remains. There was a horse, dead on the road\u2014not another dead horse!<\/em> shot through Adam\u2019s mind\u2014apparently shot by the driver of the cart, who lay on the ground with one leg bent in an unnatural angle: clearly broken, most probably hurting like hell.<\/p>\n

For all the driver\u2019s apparent misery, Adam found it hard to sympathise with him. And that sentiment wasn\u2019t exactly diluted by the fact that the injured man had levelled his rifle at him.<\/p>\n

He raised his hands. \u201cI\u2019m unarmed,\u201d he said, astonished at how steady his voice sounded. \u201cI just want to help.\u201d<\/p>\n

The rifle didn\u2019t waver. \u201cWhere ya come from?\u201d<\/p>\n

Waving the cane vaguely in the direction from which he\u2019d come, Adam gave the man a wry smile. \u201cOutta the woods,\u201d he said. \u201cBeen hunting. Horse threw me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHuntin\u2019? With that there thing?\u201d The rifle made a short movement to the cane and back to Adam.<\/p>\n

\u201cWas all I could get a hold of\u2014shoulda grabbed my gun, but\u2026\u201d He shrugged.<\/p>\n

The man nodded, but didn\u2019t drop the rifle. He looked at Adam through narrowed eyes. \u201cYou ain\u2019t from hereabouts, are ya? You ain\u2019t soundin\u2019 like no Virginian.\u201d<\/p>\n

So much for trying to blend in. Better try something else, Cartwright.<\/em> \u201cWasn\u2019t born here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019 say\u2019.\u201d The rifle was once more adjusted. It pointed directly to Adam\u2019s heart.<\/p>\n

He drew a deep breath, trying to ignore the chill that went down his spine, then frowned at the man. \u201cListen, do you want me to help you or do you want some chit-chat? If it\u2019s the latter I\u2019ll have to pass. I\u2019m not in the mood to tell you my life story right now. I went out to bring down a little game this morning, dang horse spooked, I got thrown and I\u2019ve spent the rest of the day hobbling through the scenery. Now I\u2019d really like to see that I make it home before nightfall. So, take your pick.\u201d<\/p>\n

The rifle was lowered, then laid on the ground. Within easy reach, but at least not pointed at his chest anymore. \u201cHold yer horses, fella. Just wanta be sure yer one of our\u2019n, with all them Bluebellies so close by now.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam raised a questioning eyebrow and made a gesture towards the leg. As the man nodded his approval, he knelt down and carefully peeled the torn, bloodied pant away from the injured limb.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat Bluebellies?\u201d he said while assessing the damage. He didn\u2019t need to be a doctor to see the shank bone was broken\u2014not with its ends protruding through the skin.<\/p>\n

\u201cThem Yanks down at Culpeper? Didn\u2019t ya hear?\u201d The man hissed when Adam touched a sensitive spot, but continued to talk through clenched teeth. He spoke hurriedly, without pausing longer than it took to squeeze out a short groan or a choked cry, and apparently with no intention of stopping, lest he be tempted to concentrate his attention on what was being done to his leg. \u201cThey done made headquarters there after that battle three days ago.\u201d Jerking his head towards the cage, he snorted. \u201cThat\u2019s why them niggers o\u2019er here all agettin\u2019 lose. Thinkin\u2019 they can get to Culpeper afore abody catch them.\u201d He laughed. \u201cWeren\u2019t countin\u2019 on ole Tiberius Quake, though. I catch them all\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam stopped paying attention. He set out to treat the break: tore the pant leg further open\u2014Those are trousers, Adam, the other are\u2026unmentionables,<\/em> admonished the indignant alto voice inside his head\u2014cleaned the wound as thoroughly as possible, selected some pieces of wood from the wagon debris that he could utilise for splints. He worked mechanically, as if he\u2019d done it before, without thinking about what to do next\u2014which was just as well, because his thoughts were occupied with digesting what he\u2019d just heard.<\/p>\n

Things whirled in his head, ideas and hopes, facts and wishes. The Union Army was now headquartered at Culpeper. How far was he from Culpeper? Twenty miles, perhaps less? A day\u2019s march, not more. Heck, his corps had covered more than twenty miles a day on the way to Gettysburg, marching under a scorching sun and wearing thick army coats and heavy accoutrements. Of course, he\u2019d been fully able-bodied then\u2026but now he\u2019d have to carry only his own weight, and he\u2019d walk in the cool of the night.<\/p>\n

Could it be? Could it really be that in the end fortune was favouring him?<\/p>\n

He turned his attention back to Quake. \u201cI\u2019ll have to set the bone straight. This\u2019ll…hurt<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, yeah, and everthing ya done so far was jest a cakewalk.\u201d Quake snatched a small piece of wood from the ground and, stuffing it into his mouth, nodded. He managed to squeeze a \u201cGerron with it\u201d past the bit\u2014and then passed out with a short cry as the bone snapped back into its proper position.<\/p>\n

Adam let go of the foot at which he\u2019d been carefully pulling. He put the rifle out of Quake\u2019s reach, yanked the man\u2019s belt from his waist, and bound his hands with it. He searched Quake for the keys to the cage and took them to the prisoners, handing them one of the men.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you manage?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, mas\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam. My name\u2019s Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man hesitated and searched Adam\u2019s face for a moment, then he nodded. \u201cToby,\u201d he finally said, pointing at his chest.<\/p>\n

\u201cRight, Toby, see you get your people out here, I have to\u2026\u201d He gestured back to Quake.<\/p>\n

\u201cHelp him?<\/em>\u201d There was mystification in Toby\u2019s voice, doubt, and caution.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, I can\u2019t let him lie here with his leg busted and bleeding, can I? He\u2019d likely die.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s a slave hunter.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow can you free us and let him live?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe won\u2019t be able to come after you, will he? There\u2019s no need to kill him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you one of them, too?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m a fugitive, just like you. A Federal, on the way back to my corps.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen why\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKilling him won\u2019t make the South change their ways, will it?\u201d He was glad Toby didn\u2019t point out that as a Union soldier, Adam had been doing just that: killing individuals to make a society change its ways.<\/p>\n

He returned to the still-unconscious man to splint and dress the broken leg. Searching for something to use for a bandage, he tugged at his shirt first, but decided it was too filthy. The slave hunter\u2019s own clothes, shabby as they were, would serve the purpose better.<\/p>\n

As he secured the splints with strips torn of Quake\u2019s shirt, Adam was overcome with another memory\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201dIn and out, slick and clean.\u201d He was using one of his shirt sleeves to bandage a wound on his brother\u2019s leg.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cAdam, I ain\u2019t never gonna tease you again about wearing them clean shirts,\u201d Hoss said.<\/em><\/p>\n

And he couldn\u2019t help but raise an eyebrow and come back, \u201cThe only reason I wear them is because I knew you gonna get shot one day.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Then his other brother, Joe, was skidding around a boulder, joining them\u2014both in shooting at some rustlers and in teasing each other mercilessly.<\/em><\/p>\n

He had brothers. Good Lord, he had brothers. Those two men\u2026Hoss and Joe\u2026brothers, his<\/em> brothers. And Pa\u2026they\u2019d been rescued by Pa in the end. And it was there, all there, crystal clear in his mind.<\/p>\n

The feeling, the relief was almost dizzying.<\/p>\n

With a soft touch to his shoulder, Toby brought him out of his reminiscence. \u201cThank you\u2026friend. We better be on our way now. Won\u2019t be long before they find Quake here, and we\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Shaking his head, Adam interrupted the man. \u201cIt\u2019s almost night. No one travels this road in the dark. Quake won\u2019t be found until morning\u2014and we\u2019ll be in Culpeper by then already.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe. We\u2019re headed the same way, aren\u2019t we?\u201d<\/p>\n

Toby nodded. \u201cYes, sure\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen we should be staying together. If you want me with you, that is.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure.\u201d He cast a glance over his shoulder, back to where the others stood waiting. One woman was helping the other putting her arm into a sling; the two men were watching him, apparently anxious to go. As he looked back at Adam, he nodded again, then broke into a grin. \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n

They didn\u2019t speak much after that. Adam fetched his saddlebags from where he\u2019d left them in the bushes, they settled Quake somewhere at the roadside, providing him with Adam\u2019s blanket and a half-full canteen they\u2019d found in the remains of the cart.<\/p>\n

One of the women gave him a shy smile as he distributed half of what was left of his provisions promising the rest for later; the other touched his hand and then, briefly, his cheek. \u201cGod blessuns.\u201d<\/p>\n

The men accepted the food wordlessly. Their eyes, however, spoke volumes as they hungrily wolfed it down.<\/p>\n

And then they set off. Walking one after the other, a small band of tired, worn, yet determined figures. They hadn\u2019t gone long when Adam felt someone lifting the saddlebags from his shoulder. He turned around and saw Toby\u2019s smiling face.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet me carry that for you,\u201d the man said.<\/p>\n

Adam frowned. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to. You\u2019re not\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know. But I\u2019d like to.\u201d Toby clapped on his shoulder. \u201cBear you one another\u2019s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ, says the Good Book.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam didn\u2019t argue. He was exhausted, hurting, kept upward only by sheer willpower: he was grateful to share the burden. With every step his load seemed to get lighter, his future brighter. Less than twenty miles to Culpeper, less than twenty miles<\/em>. What could possibly happen in less than twenty miles?<\/p>\n

Well, anything and everything. Fortune had been a very fickle lady lately. But then again, he was used to dealing with erratic ladies, wasn\u2019t he?<\/p>\n

__________
\nHere is the rule to remember in the future, when anything tempts you to be bitter:
\nnot, \u201cThis is a misfortune\u201d but \u201cTo bear this worthily is good fortune.\u201d ~ Marcus Aurelius<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

This chapter is dedicated to my big brother Niels. Not just because you inspired the second part of the chapter, but also because you’re the best big brother ever.<\/p>\n

Thank you for being there when I need you.<\/p>\n

\u00a0***<\/p>\n

\u00a0This Month’s words were: honey, violet, drew. fortune, cast.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 20<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Dawn<\/h3>\n

Major General Carl Schurz poured himself a cup of jasmine tea, freshly brewed from his personal stock. Supplies were generally low and not easily restocked in Virginia. The Union blockade restricted imports to the point of irrelevance, and ever since the North had taken control of the Mississippi River, the eastern confederate states suffered also from shortages in beef and pork and other native products. Eccentricities as jasmine tea were absolutely unavailable.<\/p>\n

The tea was Schurz\u2019 very own little luxury, an indulgence to which he treated himself with due reverence, first thing every morning just before sunrise, and this morning was no exception. Clarion wasn\u2019t far, and soon life in the camp would start with its usual busy tension. The men knew they could be sent moving again, and they seemed aquiver, almost buzzing with restless energy and anticipation. For now, however, everything was still quiet, and General Schurz, wrapped in his thick army coat against the chill of the mid-September morning, savoured both the peaceful silence and the hot, fragrant tea.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

Perhaps the fever was a blessing. Perhaps Adam would be even colder if he weren\u2019t burning from inside\u2014on the other hand, perhaps his hot skin made the fresh morning air appear colder than it actually was.<\/p>\n

Or perhaps he was just going insane. One minute sweat made his back prickle and he wanted nothing more than to shed his filthy clothes and let the cool air dry and refresh him; the next he was shivering and chattering his teeth, and longed for an additional coat, a campfire, or\u2014frivolously\u2014for a warm bed.<\/p>\n

A bed. A kingdom for a bed,<\/em> Adam thought and allowed himself to slip into another waking dream.<\/p>\n

Crackling from the fireplace, crisp white bed linen, a warm, soft body curved around his, clever fingers sneaking out, touching; the smell of honey in a golden disarray of locks, the warm breath of quiet laughter on his neck, nibbling lips on that spot below his ear, a whisper: \u201clove,\u201d the pull of blessed oblivion, falling, falling, falling\u2014contentment, blissful quiet, peace: heaven.<\/em><\/p>\n

He was jarred out of his vision as he stumbled, nearly losing his cane in the process, but kept upright by a steady hand under his arm. Hours ago, it had become apparent that Adam\u2019s saddlebags weren\u2019t the only burden to share\u2014that Adam himself was becoming more and more of a liability for the group. In spite of all his rekindled determination his leg wasn\u2019t able to withstand the continued strain, and the surge of new strength that had carried him so far was waning constantly. Toby and one of the other men, who\u2019d never told Adam his name, had taken turns in supporting him after they\u2019d noticed he\u2019d been lagging behind, barely able to stay on his feet.<\/p>\n

At one point, he\u2019d asked Toby to leave him behind, to carry on without him, not to risk getting caught because he was slowing them down. Toby had flat-out refused that.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re in this together,\u201d he\u2019d said. \u201cIf you stay behind, I\u2019ll stay behind, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t. You\u2019ll get caught.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen you better keep movin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n

And so he had kept moving.<\/p>\n

No, Adam decided, the fever was not a blessing. It made him vulnerable to the allure of the dreams, of a false sense of security when he should stay alert and attentive. It made his head droop when he should keep his eyes up and watch out for troubles\u2014even though their journey had been almost undisturbed so far.<\/p>\n

As predicted, the road was deserted at night. Only once, still in the late hours of blue dusk, they\u2019d heard hoofbeats behind them, and quickly ducked into the underbrush at the side of the road.<\/p>\n

A small group of riders had passed by without noticing them. They\u2019d ridden slowly, and Adam had been able to catch snippets of their talk, which had been about women and drinking, and about avoiding Union patrols\u2014and not with a single word about hunting fugitives.<\/p>\n

That encounter had remained the only incident, but it had warned them to stay alert and vigilant, to hark into the quietness, and to watch out for movement in the shadows. In the beginning, they\u2019d taken short breaks every once in a while, eaten a little, drunk a little, talked a little. Once they\u2019d even laughed a little\u2014when they\u2019d found that what they thought to be a sleuth-dog tracing them had only been a snuffling weasel.<\/p>\n

After that, they didn\u2019t take any breaks anymore. Determined to reach their destination before dawn, they just carried on. Too tired to even talk, too exhausted to think anything beyond putting one foot in front of the other, they just stumbled forward.<\/p>\n

On a strange, entirely academic level, Adam wondered if his overexertion was a result of the newly-flared fever, or the fever a result of the overexertion\u2014and if it was possible to establish a quotient for measuring the height of a fever in relation to the amount of sleepless hours. Not that it really mattered, but trying to work it out distracted him from dreaming about soft beds\u2026and soft lips.<\/p>\n

It also distracted him from the fact that he spotted the notion of pink on the eastern horizon, the promise of sun-up, daylight\u2014and new threats.<\/p>\n

The others must have noticed the subtle change in the colours of the night, too. In silent agreement, they all picked up speed, drawing on last reserves, anxious to get into safety before the concealing night fell. They didn\u2019t know how far they\u2019d made it already, how close to the Union headquarters they might be\u2014surely it couldn\u2019t be too far away anymore, could it? They must be almost there, perhaps just one more mile, or two, or even less than a mile, or\u2014<\/p>\n

And then it was over. Abruptly, suddenly, irrevocably over. A dog\u2019s bark, a bellowed order \u201cHold it!\u201d and the clicks of rifles being cocked put an end to their flight. In the dim light of the beginning dawn, they faced half a dozen or so guns trained on them, a panting and snapping bloodhound straining at its leash, and then an oily voice, \u201cMy, my, what do we have rooted up here, huh?\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

General Schurz had just emptied his third cup of tea when his solitude ended. Lieutenant Di Scompiglio, the general\u2019s new adjutant, entered the tent precisely six minutes later than expected, bringing with him a waft of cold air, the smell of morning dew, and a bundle of papers.<\/p>\n

\u201cDispatches, Sir,\u201d he said with a lazy salute and threw some telegrams on the general\u2019s desk.<\/p>\n

Schurz cleared his throat. \u201cAnd good morning to you, Lieutenant,\u201d he said in a pointed, but not unfriendly voice.<\/p>\n

The young officer ducked his head. \u201cGood morning, Sir.\u201d He reached down and arranged the telegrams, shoving them into a small tidy pile before he looked up again. \u201cNew orders, I believe, Sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

Almost like a puppy waiting for his masters approval,<\/em> Schurz thought as he saw the captain\u2019s eyes, and he hid a grin. \u201cVery well, we shall see\u2014what the\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

He was interrupted by loud voices in front of the tent. Then the canvas at the entrance flapped open and, along with another draught of fresh air, two corporals accessed the office tent.<\/p>\n

Schurz drew himself up. \u201cGentlemen?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCorporals Fenman and Moeller, Sir.\u201d The soldiers stood to attention. \u201cOn sentry duty tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReport, Corporal.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOn patrol, we picked up six persons. Five negroes and a white man.\u201d<\/p>\n

Schurz sighed. That wasn\u2019t something uncommon. The newly established headquarters of the Army of the Potomac must appear like a piece of the Promised Land right in the middle of the slave country. The tempting nearness encouraged slaves to try and escape from their masters, and while some lucky refugees made it to the safety of the camp, others were caught before they\u2019d even got close.<\/p>\n

Patrols occasionally found horrific evidences of failed flight attempts in the near vicinity of the camp: not all slave hunters brought the escaped men and women back to their owners, but instead tortured and killed them where they\u2019d caught them and left their bodies lying in the dirt or hanging on trees as a warning to others.<\/p>\n

This time, however, it seemed they were lucky to have caught a slave hunter before he could pursue his dirty business. Of course, now this man had to be protected from being used as a warning to others himself. Union soldiers were no saints, either.<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly\u2026the white says he\u2019s one of us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPardon?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe says he belongs to the Union Army. Can\u2019t prove it, of course. But, Sir\u2026\u201d The Corporal looked at Schurz almost apologetically. \u201cSir, he says you know him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Well, that was<\/em> something uncommon. Despite himself, Schurz was intrigued. \u201cSo, I\u2019m supposed to know him. Can he prove that?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe says his name\u2019s Cartwright, Sir, Adam Cartwright, and that you\u2019ve met.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam Cartwright. Yes, he knew Adam Cartwright. And yes, he had met Adam Cartwright, who\u2019d brought him regards from his wife, one of Schurz\u2019 most memorable students in London all those years ago: the outspoken Countess of Barnstoke. He remembered his amusement as he\u2019d thought that Cartwright must be a very courageous man to marry the countess. Later everything he\u2019d heard about the man\u2019s performance had proved that he was fearless and spirited, yet considerate and level-headed; and Schurz had intended to promote the man to the rank of lieutenant right after the battle at Gettysburg. But it never came to that because Adam Cartwright was\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019s dead. Cartwright died at Gettysburg.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe sure looks<\/em> dead,\u201d the corporal said with a short smile, then shifted his features back to seriousness. \u201cSir, he says he\u2019d been captured and then escaped from the rebels. Seems quite certain you can identify him.\u201d<\/p>\n

Schurz stroked over his beard. Cartwright.<\/em> He had sent his former secretary, Paul Hansen, to Cartwright\u2019s home to inform the countess of her husband\u2019s demise. He\u2019d always had a soft spot for the well-read lady, who\u2019d been so different from the bloated aristocrats with which he mostly had to deal, with her surprising interests in politics and social justice\u2014and the art of newspaper making. When he\u2019d learnt of Cartwright\u2019s death, he had found anything except a personally delivered message to his widow completely inappropriate. It had been more than just a gallant gesture\u2014it had been a late bow to a kindred spirit.<\/p>\n

\u201cBring him in.\u201d It was worth a try, wasn\u2019t it? Perhaps it was time for a small miracle. Perhaps there would be a reason to send another, much happier message to her ladyship. Perhaps the story was true, and there was a man his soldiers could look up to. A hero. Fodder for the troop\u2019s morale.<\/p>\n

What the corporals dragged in didn\u2019t look like a hero, and certainly didn\u2019t look like the man he claimed to be. Adam Cartwright, as Schurz had known him, was a man with the powerful constitution of a dray horse, tall and broad-chested, with shiny black hair, the healthy tanned skin of a man used to working outdoors, and with bright intelligent eyes. A man who\u2019d stood proud and straight, his pose perfect and his attire flawlessly neat.<\/p>\n

The ragged, filthy scare crow the corporals held upright between them bore no resemblance to the man Schurz remembered. This man was emaciated, almost skeletally thin, his face gaunt and what was visible of his skin underneath the days worth of stubble appeared dull and ashen-grey; the overgrown hair was matted and clinging to his scalp. The worst, though, were his eyes: fever-bright, they still looked\u2026extinct. There was no spark, no light. They were almost dead.<\/p>\n

Although his attempt at standing to attention failed miserably, his voice was steady, if croaky. \u201cSergeant Adam Cartwright, Sir. We met shortly after I enlisted.\u201d<\/p>\n

Schurz frowned. The man could<\/em> be Cartwright\u2014or he could be any<\/em> man. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, I don\u2019t seem to\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLeopold Hohmeyer introduced us. Perhaps he can\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSergeant Hohmeyer is dead. He fell at Gettysburg. I\u2019ll need something more to be sure you are who you claim to be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLeo is\u2026? I knew he was missing, but I\u2019d hoped\u2026well\u2026\u201d Pain flickered over the man\u2019s face, but he allowed the emotion to be seen only for a brief moment. \u201cSir, when we met, we talked about my wife. She was your pupil in London.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou said she\u2026\u201d He emitted a short, soft laugh, and his dead eyes lit up\u2014like embers rekindled by a fresh breeze. It changed his whole face, and suddenly there was a fire that seemed familiar. \u201cYou said she was more interested in your involvement in the German Revolution and the hidden meaning of Die Forelle<\/em> than in properly pronouncing \u2018ouch.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAuch<\/em>,\u201d Schurz corrected automatically. Die Forelle<\/em>\u2014The Trout<\/em>\u2014and Lady Juliet\u2019s very imaginative analysis. Yes, he remembered having told that story in a conversation of which only he and Cartwright could know. He smiled. So\u2026a happy message for her ladyship after all.<\/em> \u201cSergeant Cartwright, I\u2019m very glad you made it back to us. I expect a full report as soon as you have recovered from\u2026your ordeal, but for now\u2014Sergeant?\u201d<\/p>\n

Cartwright\u2019s face had gone slack while Schurz had been speaking, and now it lost what little colour there had been in it. Schurz saw the man\u2019s eyes rolling back and his body going limp, but before he slumped down to the ground, the corporals tightened their hold on him and kept him standing.<\/p>\n

\u201cSir?\u201d<\/p>\n

Schurz waved his hand emphatically. \u201cHospital, quick.\u201d<\/p>\n

He watched the corporals half-carrying Cartwright out, and then kept gazing out of the still open entrance at the camp\u2019s tents, that glowed in a curious blend of orange and pink in the merry light of dawn.<\/p>\n

Good news, indeed. Not just for her ladyship. Whatever Cartwright\u2019s full story was, he had escaped from Confederate imprisonment, and that was the kind of tale that made the rounds. The kind of tale that created legends\u2014and heroes: leaders the men would follow everywhere, blindly and without fear. Exactly what the XI Corps needed.<\/p>\n

Schurz sat down at his desk and absently picked up the telegrams Di Scompiglio had deposited there earlier, shuffling the papers without really looking at them. Eventually he arranged them into a neat stack, put them back and decisively smoothed them down.<\/p>\n

\u201cLieutenant.\u201d He looked up and cleared his throat. \u201cGet a promotion document ready.\u201d<\/p>\n

Di Scompiglio jumped in his seat. The paper he\u2019d just been folding into what looked like a boat flew out of his hands and onto the floor. \u201cWhazza\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLieutenant!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSir, I\u2019m sorry, Sir. I\u2026I didn\u2019t quite catch that. \u201d<\/p>\n

Schurz glared. \u201cLieutenant Di Scompiglio, do get a promotion document ready. Now. If<\/em> you please.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Sir. For whom?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy, for Sergeant Cartwright, of course. He will be promoted lieutenant.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd, Di Scompiglio, send a telegram to Major Harrington. Cartwright has to be removed from the death roll. And the family must be informed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Sir. Um, Sir, which first?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich? Which which?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe, err, promotion or the tele\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe telegrams, naturally. The administration has to be up to date. See to it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

Schurz sighed. Sometimes he missed his former secretary. Paul Hansen had been so much more efficient.<\/p>\n

He picked up the telegrams again, and finally read them\u2014still distracted at first, but then with increasing attention. Emitting a low whistle, he read one a second time, digesting it word by word. Finally, the comparatively quiet weeks of reorganization came to an end for him and his men: the XI Corps would be cut lose from the Army of the Potomac and dispatched westwards to succour the Army of the Cumberland at Chattanooga, Tennessee.<\/p>\n

They had been sent again to front and centre.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026and therefore this court declares William Robert Coulston not guilty as charged. Mr. Coulston is to be released from detention immediately and unconditionally. Court adjourned.\u201d<\/p>\n

Billy-Bob sagged in his seat, head buried in his hands. There were some subdued cheers from the audience, that were almost drowned out by the usual overall mumbling and shuffling of chairs and feet.<\/p>\n

Joe found it difficult to swim against the stream of outward-pressing spectators, but eventually he made it to Billy-Bob\u2019s seat. He proffered his hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cCongrats, Billy-Bob! You\u2019re a free man now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, yeah, thanks to ya. I know that.\u201d Billy-Bob frowned and looked around the room\u2014everywhere but at Joe\u2019s hand. He crossed his arms.<\/p>\n

\u201cI told you everything would turn out all right.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReckon ya done said so.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter? You\u2019re free. Let\u2019s go and celebrate. I\u2019ll pay.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cList\u2019n, Cartwright, yer done whatcha said ya\u2019ll do, and I reckon I hafta be mighty thankful fer that. But I still ain\u2019t got no job, and I figger there ain\u2019t no one givin\u2019 me no job in this here town \u2018cause I\u2019m still the one who\u2019d been shootin\u2019 atta Cartwright.\u201d He leaned back in his chair and spit on the floor. \u201cSeems ta me, there ain\u2019t no reason fer no celebration.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe cringed. \u201cBilly-Bob, I told you I\u2019ll think of something. I promise you I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeems yer gotta do a lotta thinkin\u2019 then,\u201d Billy-Bob drawled. He scratched his head, then fingered his jaw and squinted at Joe\u2014and grinned. \u201cWon\u2019t go an\u2019 jest smack a man so easy again, will ya?\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe grinned back. \u201cNope, I reckon I won\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood. But I ain\u2019t gonna wet ma dry withya anyway. The boys are waitin\u2019 fer me o\u2019er there already.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stood, waved over at the entrance, where Joe could see some men waiting, and left without another word. Joe was about to shout after Billy-Bob, but he was stopped from doing it by Pa\u2019s hand on his arm.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go, Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut, Pa\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go.\u201d Pa squeezed Joe\u2019s shoulder, then pushed him into motion and led him outside.<\/p>\n

Joe tried to find Billy-Bob in the crowd, but the man was nowhere to be seen. Most probably he was already \u201cwetting his dry\u201d in the Bucket of Blood saloon with his miner-friends.<\/p>\n

\u201cI just don\u2019t understand\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBilly-Bob is not your friend, Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cJoe.\u201d Pa took his shoulders and turned him around to stand face to face. \u201cBilly-Bob is glad that he\u2019s a free man. And he\u2019s thankful you spoke to his favour at court. But, after all, from his point of view, you are the reason he got into this mess to begin with.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe sighed. \u201cYeah, but I just wished\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat he\u2019d forgive you the way you forgave him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess\u2026yah.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome time, he will. I\u2019m sure of it, Son.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot if\u2026Pa, he needs a job, and I promised him I\u2019ll see to it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo.\u201d Pa tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. \u201cAnd how exactly are you going to do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe put on his most winning smile. \u201cI thought that perhaps I could talk to Mr. Hamish from the mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHamish made it very clear that he doesn\u2019t want to see Billy-Bob anywhere close to the Ophir anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut that was before Billy-Bob was cleared. Now he has no reason\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBilly-Bob is a drinker. Hamish might not want a drinker down in the mine.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe snorted. As if Billy-Bob were the only drinker down there. Heck, most of the miners were drinkers. Joe guessed it was the only way to cope with being constantly deprived of fresh air. The thought alone\u2026 Gosh, he was so glad his own job entailed being out on the open range, with a wide clear blue sky above, and horizons far, far away. That view surely didn\u2019t prompt a man to hit the bottle.<\/p>\n

Well, and if that just didn\u2019t kill two birds with one stone. \u201cHe could work for us<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pa looked incredulous. \u201cI don\u2019t want to hire a drinker, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPa\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd, honestly, the man doesn\u2019t want to take a drink with you. Do you really think he wants to work<\/em> for you?\u201d<\/p>\n

All right, that was a valid argument. \u201cAnd what about\u2026give him a small patch of land? Make him his own master? There\u2019s that small part far north on the Ponderosa, you know, the one with the little lake by the trees\u2026\u201d He trailed off when he saw Pa shaking his head.<\/p>\n

\u201cJoe, do you really want me to give a patch of land to a man who\u2019d shot my son?\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe tried not to grin. \u201cWell, it has been known to happen before.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI will not\u2026. Oh, well.\u201d Pa threw his hands. \u201cAll right, I\u2019ll\u2026I\u2019ll speak to Mr. Hamish.\u201d<\/p>\n

Joe giggled. He couldn\u2019t help it, it was too funny. \u201cYou\u2019re like Juliet,\u201d he spluttered. Throwing his hands theatrically, he exclaimed in a high voice\u2014much higher than Juliet\u2019s alto, he realised even while he emitted it, \u201coh, very well!\u201d labouring to let the \u2018r\u2019 roll from the tip of his tongue.<\/p>\n

Pa glared at him and shook his head, opened his mouth to reply something\u2014but then his face changed in a split second. Only a moment ago all paternal authority and patronising qualms, he suddenly looked like a spooked squirrel. He stared at a point somewhere behind Joe\u2019s shoulder, then ducked his head and mumbled, \u201cLet\u2019s get our horses and go home. Quick.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the matter?\u201d Joe frowned. He turned his head, slowly…<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t look,\u201d Pa hissed.<\/p>\n

But, of course, Joe couldn\u2019t resist. And he was rewarded with a quite peculiar view: in the distance, he saw what looked like a flock of flamingos but soon turned out to be none other than Widow Hawkins, all pink feathers and quills, who was hurrying up the street, waving a pinkish, frilly bundle of an umbrella at them.<\/p>\n

Her voice could be heard even though she was still a few houses away. \u201cBenjamin, Benjamin!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Lord, not now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPa, don\u2019t you want to say hello to your friend?\u201d Joe lost the battle with the impending broad grin. \u201cPerhaps she wants to invite you for a nice cup of sassafras tea?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

And then the widow joined them, breathing heavily. She handed her umbrella to Joe\u2014who fiddled with it for a moment, then tried to hide it behind his legs\u2014and held fast on Pa\u2019s arm. \u201cBenjamin, dear boy,\u201d she wheezed. \u201cI have\u2026I have this\u2026\u201d She fanned herself with a small piece of paper.<\/p>\n

\u201cClementine, what\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, do excuse me, my dear boy.\u201d She took a few deep breaths. \u201cI just met Mr. Beyman from the telegraph office who was on the way to you with this,\u201d the paper fanned with a flourish into Pa\u2019s direction, \u201cand I told him I wanted to see you anyway. He was glad he didn\u2019t have to make the way and so he\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Pa\u2019s patted the widow\u2019s hand. \u201cClementine, give it to me.\u201d How he managed to keep any kind of impatience out of his voice was beyond Joe.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, gracious me. Of course, Benjamin. How very inconsiderate of me. Here you are, my dear.\u201d<\/p>\n

Pa took the telegram, read it\u2014and stumbled. Mrs. Hawkins caught his arm and steadied him, beating Joe to it. There wasn\u2019t much left of the loud, exaggerated person who had just cornered them. Instead, there was a compassionate friend, watching Pa with eyes full of concern.<\/p>\n

Joe\u2019s grin melted. \u201cPa?\u201d<\/p>\n

The telegram was thrust into Joe\u2019s hand, and he forced himself to read it\u2014and then Billy-Bob Coulston was forgotten, the Ophir mine, little patches of land, and all that; and the future consisted only of one thing: Adam was alive.<\/p>\n

Oh, and of the fact that \u201c\u2019Arry\u2019s\u201d tights might be hung over the fireplace at the Ponderosa after all, for Pa had taken Mrs. Hawkins around her waist and was whirling her around, high in the air, laughing like a madman while she was squealing, \u201cCoo, Benjamin, what a jolly good day!\u201d<\/p>\n

And that it was, wasn\u2019t it? A truly jolly good day!<\/em><\/p>\n

__________
\nHowever long the night, the dawn will break. ~ African proverb <\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n

The words given were prickle, bloat, sleuth, dray, smack.<\/p>\n

I also incorporated an assortment of animals, which were given as an extra challenge: weasel, crow, squirrel, and flamingos.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

Chapter 21<\/strong><\/h3>\n

To Honour and Obey<\/h3>\n

It was amazing what a few nights of undisturbed sleep, some hearty meals, and the knowledge of being among friends could do for a man\u2019s health, Adam thought as he put on freshly laundered blue uniform pants and a starched grey shirt. He was still sore in many places, with his right shoulder still aching, his right leg still stiff and uncooperative whenever he attempted to put weight on it, the tender scar tissue still easily aggravated by the friction of the trousers wool on the light bandage. He wasn\u2019t exactly \u201chealed\u201d\u2014the army doctor who\u2019d treated him had been very clear upon that\u2014but he was as good as they were able to make him right now. Everything else would need time.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat rebel surgeon did an excellent job,\u201d the doctor had said. \u201cOutstanding.\u201d<\/p>\n

Unfortunately, that didn\u2019t mean Adam would have full use of his leg anytime soon.<\/p>\n

\u201cThink in months rather than weeks.\u201d The doctor had prodded at the scar very carefully, and raised his eyebrow at the tell-tale twitch and Adam\u2019s sharp intake of breath. \u201cOr years, perhaps.\u201d<\/p>\n

All in all, the surgeon hadn\u2019t told him much more and nothing much better than Dr. Mabbs: he would have to take it easy for a long time, give his body time to build up strength and his leg time to re-grow bone material and perhaps even a little muscle tissue. He would have to depend on a cane for an unforeseeable time, would experience pain, especially at weather changes and under stress, and would most likely limp for the rest of his life.<\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t sound too bad. Seemed quite manageable, actually. Now that the all-consuming fatigue he\u2019d felt for so many days had gone, now that he could eat and drink as much as he wanted and could handle, he felt ready to go back to normal, to do something useful. Now that he didn\u2019t have to be taken care of anymore, he wanted to start taking care of things himself again. He didn\u2019t mind the pain, or the cane, or the limp. Those were things he could deal with. But being inactive<\/em> was something that ate at him, had actually eaten at him ever since he\u2019d been wounded\u2014but now he finally would be able to change that and to go back into action.<\/p>\n

He stuffed the wool shirt into his pants, fastened the buttons on the fly. He smiled wryly. The uniform he\u2019d been given had seemed to be made for a man with a much slighter build. It looked like something his brother Joe could wear. But when he\u2019d pointed that out to the orderly who\u2019d brought it, the man had snorted.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhen was the last time you looked into a mirror?\u201d he\u2019d said and looked pointedly at Adam\u2019s bare chest.<\/p>\n

It had been that very morning, that last time Adam had looked into a mirror, as he\u2019d set about shaving. He\u2019d been taken aback by the gaunt look of his face, the prominent dark rings under his eyes, and the hollow cheeks. He\u2019d decided then that shaving\u2014and exposing the full extent of his emaciation\u2014could, and should<\/em>, wait. So he\u2019d just trimmed the wild growth into something resembling a groomed beard.<\/p>\n

Of course, he hadn\u2019t seen more than his face in that mirror, but he didn\u2019t need to see more to know that his long sickness had taken more than a pound or two from him. And as if to prove it, the Joe-sized uniform pants hung loose and low on his hips and had to be bundled up with a belt to sit as they were supposed to.<\/p>\n

Perhaps when Fritz had said Adam was only skin and bones he\u2019d not exaggerated after all.<\/p>\n

Fritz. For some reasons Adam had not expected to see the boy ever again, but he\u2019d woken from a nap yesterday afternoon to Fritz Boettcher\u2019s excited face.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a sorry sight,\u201d his comrade had greeted him. \u201cSkins and bones. But seeing you only half<\/em>-dead sure is an improvement.\u201d<\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s mind had still been fuzzy with sleep or he would have drawn the conclusions himself. But as it was, he\u2019d asked, \u201cImprovement over what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo thinking you\u2019re dead, of course.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou thought me dead?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew<\/em> you were dead.\u201d Fritz nodded for emphasis. \u201cAdam, you died<\/em> in a field hospital. There were witnesses. I buried you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2026I\u2014what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2014well, a soldier<\/em> who was thought to be you died. He was brought to the hospital nearly dead. They tried to save his life, amputated his leg, but he died after a few days.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut how did they think it was me? You must have recognised\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam, you know how it was. There wasn\u2019t time to go around and ask people if they knew a wounded man. They concluded who you were from what they found in your pocket: General Ward\u2019s message and the letter to your wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

General Ward\u2019s message.<\/em> God, that had been how\u2026. It was amazing how things meshed together, how every bit of new information now dovetailed into the last holes in his memory: the papers General Ward had given him to deliver to General Schurz, his frantic run through enemy fire, the bullet that had taken him down, his futile attempts at getting up and not failing his mission, the soldier who\u2019d appeared out of the smoke and noise and to whom he\u2019d handed the general\u2019s papers. He remembered it as if it had been only yesterday: how he\u2019d reached into his coat and taken the bundle of papers out. He must have caught the letter, too, accidentally, and so\u2014but…but he hadn\u2019t written a letter to Juliet. Not while he was at Gettysburg.<\/p>\n

Unless\u2026Oh, my.<\/em> The letter that wasn\u2019t a letter. Lupus est homo homini, man is wolf to man.<\/em> The diary…that wasn\u2019t a diary, either. And certainly not a letter. But of course, it must have looked like a letter to Juliet. He had written her name on it. Not her address\u2014for it was meant never to be sent\u2014but her name. Oh, yeah, he\u2019d had to write her name on it, of course, he had. Had to tidily write her name on a letter he was about to throw into the fire the next day. Why hadn\u2019t he burnt it right away, why? He could only hope…<\/p>\n

\u201cThey didn\u2019t send it, did they?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe letter. They didn\u2019t send it to Juliet, did they?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. I didn\u2019t ask her about it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Now Adam had been truly confused. \u201cAsk whom?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou talked to my…? How? When?\u201d<\/p>\n

And then he\u2019d heard the whole story. Fritz, bereft of the protection of both his older brother Karl, who\u2019d died in his arms the day before, and his sergeant and substitute guardian, Adam, had been as careless and vulnerable as only an always closely supervised younger brother could be, and subsequently been wounded in one of the very few minor skirmishes in which the XI Corps had been involved during the second day of the battle.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d been devastated when, upon regaining consciousness after a few days, he\u2019d been told that Adam had died, and Fritz would never have the chance to tell him how much he felt he owed him. He had arranged to have Adam buried next to Karl on one of the large cemeteries that somehow had seemed to materialise everywhere in Gettysburg. Left behind to heal properly when the Union troops had moved southwards following Lee\u2019s army, it had given him time to see to everything, including to commission headstones for both Karl and Adam. During those weeks of recuperating, he had visited the graves daily. As he\u2019d gone on the cemetery the day before he\u2019d been sent after his corps, he\u2019d met Juliet and Hoss there\u2014to his utter surprise but also to his great comfort, for talking to them and telling them all he knew had made him feel he\u2019d done at least something\u2014if not for Adam, then for his family.<\/p>\n

The longer Adam thought about it, the less of a surprise it was for him<\/em>. Of course Juliet would want to see his burial place. Adam had seen death notices to other soldiers\u2019 dependants, and he knew how formulaic those were, how vague and empty. Naturally, Juliet would want to know more, would want\u2026answers. As a reporter\u2014and a person who loathed being ignorant\u2014she knew that answers didn\u2019t come to you on their own. That answers were things you had to pry from people, you had to look for, you had to ask<\/em> for. Like Adam, she hated to be inactive, to be not in charge.<\/p>\n

Oh, no, it wasn\u2019t a surprise she\u2019d gone and searched for answers herself. It was a surprise, however, that the family had let her go.<\/p>\n

Well, maybe not.<\/p>\n

No one, at least no one of his family, would be able to hold Juliet back if she\u2019d set her mind to something. No one would have been able to keep her back from going on her quest. Joe would rather wrestle a mountain lion than cross Juliet, Pa was too concerned he might not find the right tone and inadvertently hurt her, and Hoss was putty in Juliet\u2019s hands anyway.<\/p>\n

At least they\u2019d had the sense to send Hoss with her. Hoss, of whom she thought as a friend, a confidant, a brother. Hoss, who\u2019d catch her if she fell. Hoss, who\u2019d offer his broad chest to lean on, and his heart, unconditionally. Hoss, the only one of them from whom that offer would be unreservedly accepted.<\/p>\n

Hoss\u2026who\u2019d be just as shattered as Juliet, but would still find the strength\u2014and the love\u2014to recognise Juliet\u2019s distress behind her wall of impeccable manners and composed indifference, and to tear down that wall and keep her from falling apart behind it.<\/p>\n

Lord, what had he done to his family? They had thought him dead. Not missing: dead<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Adam had been glad to learn that General Schurz had seen to it that a telegram had been send to the Ponderosa. But of course, that telegram wasn\u2019t enough. Not by far.<\/p>\n

I need to write more letters home<\/em>, he\u2019d thought. Long letters, happy letters. Let them know I\u2019m all right. Always. <\/em> But how could he ever make it up to Juliet? All the letters in the world wouldn\u2019t make her forget, wouldn\u2019t take away what he\u2019d put upon her.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d have wallowed himself deeper and deeper into self-incrimination had not Fritz pulled him out of it as he\u2019d told him about how they\u2019d found Leopold Hohmeyer\u2019s mangled body in a swale at the outskirts of Gettysburg\u2014and Brigade General Schimmelpfennig alive and kicking in the garden of a private town house, where he\u2019d stayed for days, hidden in a shed to avoid capture by the enemy, until the battle had been over.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey said he was smart. A hero of some kind,\u201d Fritz had hissed. \u201cA hero, Adam, because he was clever enough to hide from the rebels.\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019d leaned forward and looked at Adam with an intensity in his eyes that had seemed foreign on his mercurial face, whose youth miraculously had not been touched by the war. \u201cThank you for not allowing me to become that kind of hero,\u201d he\u2019d whispered and squeezed Adam\u2019s hand. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n

And again, he\u2019d reminded him of Joe then\u2014more than ever.<\/p>\n

Adam slipped into his boots, put on the Prussian blue coat, buttoning it methodically. He was straightening the coat tails as the orderly came back into the room.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s time, sir,\u201d the man said.<\/p>\n

Adam checked the fit of his coat once again. This time, he would face General Schurz a proper, immaculate soldier. He brushed over the shoulder straps\u2014one golden stripe on each end, insignia of his new rank\u2014adjusted his collar. Grabbing his cane, he turned to go.<\/p>\n

\u201cComing.\u201d<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

The report General Schurz received from Lieutenant Cartwright was interesting, enthralling\u2014but didn\u2019t contain very much usable information. Cartwright had spent two and a half months recovering in a hospital, not transferred to prison only by sheer luck and because of the fact that while he\u2019d been suspected to be an enemy, no one had actually been sure<\/em> he was one. Of course, no one would have spoken openly around him or given him any other opportunity to gain information.<\/p>\n

Schurz was sure Cartwright himself withheld certain<\/em> details of his adventure, too. Nothing crucial, just\u2026the exact course of his flight remained woolly, his escape almost unbelievably lucky. The general suspected that the friendly nurse whom Cartwright had only briefly mentioned had played a much bigger part in the whole scenario, had been more deeply involved than the lieutenant let on. A gentleman never tells,<\/em> Schurz thought, and he was torn between wry amusement and faint indignation. He had a hard time refraining from inquiring further\u2014and keeping a smile to himself.<\/p>\n

Cartwright\u2019s encounter with the fugitive slaves seemed another lucky coincidence\u2014both for him and the escapees. The lieutenant, however, was determined to see the advantage clearly on his side.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d never have made it without Toby and the others,\u201d he said. \u201cThey had no cause to burden themselves with a white man, and an injured one to boot, yet they took the risk. I\u2019m forever in their debt.\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t seem to be aware that the refugees were in his debt, too\u2014an oversight that Schurz registered approvingly and that made Cartwright a man after the general\u2019s heart.<\/p>\n

Schurz had fought in what he called two wars: first, in 1848, the March revolution in Germany, now the war between the Northern and Southern States in his new home country, America. Both times he\u2019d stood up to help make his country a better place, a place where people could live in freedom and self-determination. All people, no matter their background\u2014or colour of skin.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d always been a political man, one who knew the importance of social justice, of education for everyone and of freedom of will. He had become immersed in the abolitionist movement and in politics shortly after he\u2019d emigrated to the United States; he\u2019d supported his wife Margarethe as she\u2019d opened a Kindergarten<\/em> in Wisconsin, which practised the idea of offering every child a preparation for primary school, no matter their ancestry, a few years ago; he had left his position as ambassador to Spain to come home and support his country in the war against the Southern Rebels\u2014and against slavery. Cartwright seemed to be cut from the same cloth. A patriot, yet not blind to what went wrong in his land. A man with a deeply inhered humanity, and a determination to make things right<\/em>, tofight<\/em> for what was right.<\/p>\n

Which didn\u2019t make it any easier to tell him what Schurz had<\/em> to tell him.<\/p>\n

The general was brought out of his musings by a soft hemming.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve heard Toby and the other men decided to enlist,\u201d Cartwright said, perhaps a nuance louder than strictly necessary\u2014was he repeating himself? \u201cMaybe it could be arranged that Toby will be assigned to one of my squads. I would very much appreciate that, Sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

General Schurz sighed inwardly. And here it comes: the difficult part of this conversation.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cLieutenant, I\u2019m afraid\u2026\u201d How to say it, how to phrase it without making it a repulse?<\/em> He cleared his throat. \u201cLieutenant Cartwright, you won\u2019t have any squads.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPardon?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI have here,\u201d Schurz picked a paper from his desk and waved it in Cartwright\u2019s general direction, \u201ca report from Surgeon Major Waterman. It states clearly that you are not fit for military service.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI understand, sir. For how long will I have to be off duty?\u201d<\/p>\n

Schurz leaned back in his chair. He put the paper down, not even pretending he had to check it. This time he sighed audibly. \u201cFor ever,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

Cartwright stared. He didn\u2019t flinch, didn\u2019t blink, didn\u2019t frown. He stared.<\/p>\n

Then he puckered his lips, closed his eyes, briefly, and looked back at Schurz. \u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause you are not fit for military service<\/em>. And you won\u2019t be for a very long time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut I could\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. You can\u2019t. You are, Lieutenant\u2014and please forgive me my bluntness\u2014you are crippled. You were informed about the extent of your injuries, I believe, and about the time they will take to heal\u2014if ever.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut there surely are ways\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe need able-bodied soldiers, Lieutenant. We want this war to end as soon as possible, we want to defeat Lee and his Rebels as soon as possible\u2014and we need fit and strong men for that. Not men who can\u2019t stand without the support of a cane.\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a short flash of irritation on Cartwright\u2019s face, come and gone so quickly that Schurz could have imagined it\u2014had he not fully understood where it came from.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease, don\u2019t think we don\u2019t honour what you\u2019ve done for this army, for this land. Because we do. We were lucky to have a man of your integrity and spirit with us. You served us well, very well. Now it is time we serve you. You\u2019ve done your part, now let us do ours.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve served for less than five months.\u201d It sounded flat. A mere statement. But a glint in Cartwright\u2019s eyes said there was more. Frustration? Or\u2026shame?<\/em> \u201cThis is my country, General. I want to fight for my country. Can\u2019t you relate to that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think you know that I can.\u201d Schurz kept his rebuke short. Cartwright would understand him anyway. He was a smart man.<\/p>\n

And as it was, the lieutenant looked down, for the first time. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir. That was uncalled for.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s all right; I understand this isn\u2019t easy for you.\u201d Herrgott,<\/em> yes, he did understand. Of course, he did. If he just could find a way to make it more\u2026graceful<\/em>. \u201cLieutenant, I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Distracted, he broke off. There was commotion in front of the tent, angry voices, \u201cNo, you can\u2019t\u2014the general is in a meeting, he can\u2019t be disturbed.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned to Lieutenant Di Scompiglio, who, with his slouched shoulders and bowed head, looked as if he\u2019d prefer melting into the ground to having to observe more of the conversation, and gestured towards the disturbance. \u201cTake care of th\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

He choked on the word as he heard another voice from outside. \u201cYou will not. Touch me.\u201d A woman.<\/p>\n

Then a man, a soldier. \u201cMa\u2019am, you can\u2019t\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

And another man, warningly. \u201cShe done told ya, fella. Ya better listen to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

And then the entrance flap was moved aside and revealed a woman, who slapped at a hand that tried to hold her back. With two long strides she reached the middle of the tent, her eyes finding and never leaving Schurz\u2019s.<\/p>\n

\u201cGeneral Schurz,\u201d she spat. \u201cI\u2019ve travelled a hundred and twenty miles in the past three days, and I will not be dismissed by your underlings. I demand\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes had left Schurz\u2019s face while she\u2019d spoken, as if something had told her the general was not the most important person present, and started to scan the tent. She trailed off as her eyes caught on Lieutenant Cartwright.<\/p>\n

She heaved a deep, shuddering breath. Her angry features melted into something Schurz was sure was supposed to be a stiff upper lip. Her face was chalk-white; and for a moment Schurz feared she would faint\u2014but he knew her better.<\/p>\n

A man brushed past her, a civilian, a big man with a baby in his arms, and crossed the tent towards Cartwright, who\u2019d risen from his chair and whose eyes darted back and forth, from her to him. The big man pulled him into a bear hug, with the baby somewhere between them, then held him at arms length and looked him up and down. \u201cI\u2019m sure glad to see ya, Adam,\u201d he said, grinning broadly. \u201cEven though there\u2019s not much ta see. Boy, yer even punier than Joe.\u201d<\/p>\n

The Countess of Barnstoke still stood rooted in the middle of the tent. She stared at her husband, her eyes bright and watery, her features pale yet composed. \u201cThere you are, Adam,\u201d she finally said, much higher pitched than before.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere I am.\u201d Cartwright\u2019s voice was hoarse and barely audible. \u201cThere I am. And there are you.\u201d<\/p>\n

She made a soft sound. A choked sob, a suppressed cry, something of that kind.<\/p>\n

He cleared his throat, then raised an eyebrow, smiled lopsidedly, and put a hand out to her. \u201cBut why are you not here?<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n

Now she allowed herself a sob, and a cry \u201cAdam,\u201d and she flew into his arms, pressed her face to his neck\u2014and then Schurz took Lieutenant Di Scompiglio by the sleeve and dragged him out of the tent.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

She was beautiful, so beautiful. More beautiful than in his dreams, more beautiful than he deserved her to be. She was warm and soft, affectionate and familiar, strong and caring: his wife, his friend, his family, his anchor, his home. His everything.<\/p>\n

She was too pale and too thin, her curls lustreless and limp, and her cheeks hollow. And yet to him, she was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he\u2019d ever seen.<\/p>\n

As she\u2019d stood proud and tall in General Schurz\u2019 tent, agitated and demanding and so present, Adam had yet been afraid she was just an apparition, another fever-induced hallucination, another waking dream. But then Hoss had appeared and embraced him\u2014and no one could ever mistake Hoss\u2019s materiality for a figment of his imagination.<\/p>\n

Or Henry. Henry, who\u2019d hung groggily in Hoss\u2019s arm but had raised his head after the hug had pressed him into Adam\u2019s chest, and stared wide-eyed at his father\u2019s face, stretching his hand out to investigate the beard. If those two were concrete, Adam had concluded, Juliet couldn\u2019t be an illusion either.<\/p>\n

Her choked words had made her even more real. Her choked words, her unreadable face, her rigid stance. She\u2019d been real and there, and he\u2019d been overjoyed and terrified; and it had taken all his courage to look into her eyes, where he knew he would find only truth, no pretence.<\/p>\n

Her eyes had been deep with pain and hope and\u2014relief?\u2014and something else that Adam knew had been reflected by his own eyes: love.<\/p>\n

Although that love seemed different to what they had had before, seemed tainted with desperation, with doubt, and with unsated longing. It wasn\u2019t a new facet of an old accustomed feeling, it was another dimension of it, unfamiliar, unsolicited\u2014a dark version of something that should be bright and luminous.<\/p>\n

There and then he\u2019d sworn it to himself that he would do anything to make the desperation in Juliet\u2019s eyes go away, the hurt, and the doubt; and to replace it with trust and fulfilment, and with certainty.<\/p>\n

And yet he was writing this letter. While Juliet was nursing Henry in the adjoining room, and waiting for the chamber-maid to get a bath ready, he was writing this letter. He didn\u2019t want to, and yet he did want to, he had to, he couldn\u2019t help it, couldn\u2019t look at himself if he didn\u2019t write it.<\/p>\n

\u201cTo the Secretary of War, Sir Edwin Stanton.<\/p>\n

\u201cDear Sir,<\/p>\n

\u201cI apply to you to ask for an exemption. After having sustained a severe injury during the battle at Gettysburg, I was mustered out of military service. I do realise my physical limitations. However, I am convinced that I can contribute to the cause of the Union in other ways. As an engineer…\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet would understand. He couldn\u2019t just sit back and wait until others ended this war for him. He\u2019d hardly done anything as of yet. He had accomplished nothing, changed nothing; suffered and brought suffering\u2014but what for? The war still raged on, men still died on the battlefields, freedom still was a word just for white people, North and South still were further apart than moon and earth.<\/p>\n

Juliet would understand he couldn\u2019t just go home and be glad it was over for him. He wasn\u2019t a coward, and he wasn\u2019t a quitter.<\/p>\n

There were many ways he could still be useful for The Cause. The Union Army was experimenting with new materials, first of all with vulcanite, the new, almost magic substance acquired by heat-treating raw rubber. General Blair had used rubber pontoon bridges instead of the usual wood and canvas constructions, which were heavy and hard to transport, and difficult to repair when damaged; whereas the vulcanite version was lighter, slightly flexible and more durable. Ever since Goodyear had invented the method of vulcanisation, people had come up with the most amazing applications\u2014the rubber pontoon bridge, however, seemed a particular remarkable example of the use of the new material.<\/p>\n

Even though Adam had not dealt with vulcanite during his studies\u2014having been invented in 1848 it had been just too new a thing to be part of his curriculum\u2014he was sure there were more ways to make use of it, and he saw himself developing those new uses. Uses that might help the Union Army to gain that little advantage over the Southern troops that could make the difference. It was only one of a thousand ways he could think of as to how he could still be valuable for the army.<\/p>\n

He wouldn\u2019t shirk his duty just because things had been rough on him for a time. He wasn\u2019t that kind of man.<\/p>\n

Juliet would understand that, wouldn\u2019t she?<\/p>\n

Through the door to the next room, he heard her singing to Henry. Adam couldn\u2019t suppress a wry grin as she narrowly missed a high note in Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star<\/em>. She never made it through a whole song without slipping a half-tone up or down on occasions, but Henry didn\u2019t seem to mind. In the past two days, Adam had witnessed him falling asleep without complaint to his mother\u2019s singing more than once.<\/p>\n

It was hard to admit, but he nearly hadn\u2019t recognised Henry as he saw him again after almost half a year. He\u2019d known the baby in Hoss\u2019s arms was Henry\u2014but his son had changed so much, he could have been any baby.<\/p>\n

If he stayed with the army he would miss even more of Henry\u2019s progress, and more of Juliet being a mother.<\/p>\n

Would she understand his motives?<\/p>\n

I need you!<\/em> He remembered. She\u2019d said that, months ago, and he had not fully understood it\u2014 he knew that now.\u201cAdam, don’t do that to us, don’t leave us. Don’t leave me. I couldn’t bear\u2026\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

And yet she had had to bear it. Had to bear it<\/em> and more, had paid a heavy price. She\u2019d told him about the miscarriage, in a soft voice, her gaze averted from his face. First he\u2019d thought she didn\u2019t want him to see her vulnerability; only much later he\u2019d realised she was ashamed. Blamed herself. He\u2019d embraced her, said that they would have another child, but he hadn\u2019t taken the burden from her, understanding too late that she had not just told him, but confessed it to him. Now he was helpless, speechless, felt he\u2019d failed her, had ceased to be there for her again<\/em>.<\/p>\n

Would she really understand it if he left her behind again? But other men left their wives behind, too. It couldn\u2019t be helped.<\/p>\n

He took up his pen. \u201cI would like to offer my knowledge and skills in the field of\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

The screeching of the door being opened by Hoss interrupted him.<\/p>\n

His brother\u2019s gaze swept through the room, then settled on Adam. \u201cWhere\u2019s Juliet?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWith Henry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d Oh, he knew what Hoss meant. For reasons Adam couldn\u2019t quite fathom his brother didn\u2019t tolerate it well if Adam left Juliet\u2019s side for more than a short moment.<\/p>\n

Hoss had changed, too. He was protective towards Juliet, more protective than Adam would have thought Juliet would allow anyone to be, and seemed to consider the two of them a unit. Towards Adam, though, Hoss was\u2026edgy. He made it plain he was happy to have found Adam alive and that he was concerned about Adam\u2019s physical shape, but he also seemed to have something weighing on his mind, something that made him moody\u2014Hoss, moody!\u2014and testy: a kind of suppressed anger just below the surface, ready to boil over at any given time.<\/p>\n

\u201cYa know what I mean. Why ain\u2019t ya with her?\u201d<\/p>\n

He was willing to let Hoss get away with the tone, but not with the interference. \u201cI\u2019m hardly accountable to you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYer\u2026what are you writing there?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m writing to the Department of War. I want to\u2026\u201d He trailed off because Hoss already had picked up the letter.<\/p>\n

It took Hoss about ten seconds to read it, and less then one to crumple it into a very small ball.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre ya crazy?\u201d he said so softly, it sent chills down Adam\u2019s spine.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre ya crazy?\u201d A tad louder. \u201cThey\u2019re letting you go, and you wanta talk \u2018em around?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHoss, I can still make a contribution. I can still fight for\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre ya crazy?\u201d Quite audible this time. \u201cDo ya ever think of Juliet? Pa? Joe? Anyone but you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHoss, let me explain, I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre ya crazy?\u201d Now it was a definite roar. \u201cI don\u2019t need yer explainin\u2019. This ain\u2019t about you, Adam, and the dadburned army. This is about everyone hurtin\u2019 because yer not thinking about what yer doing to them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know this isn\u2019t easy for the family. It\u2019s not easy for a lot of families, and still there are men fighting out there for a good cause. I know\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

And then white hot pain exploded in his chin, blinding him for a moment. He was propelled through the room, hitting the opposite wall before he couldn\u2019t even flail his arms. Unable to stop the momentum or to cushion the impact, he crashed into unyielding solidity; stood there, stunned, for a second or two and then slowly sagged down.<\/p>\n

Baffled, he stared at Hoss\u2019s face, which suddenly appeared only inches from his, and which didn\u2019t look quite as shocked as Adam would have hoped.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t know nothing,\u201d Hoss spat. And he did the thing Adam hated so much: he stabbed with his index finger at Adam\u2019s chest, emphasising his every word. \u201cYou don\u2019t know nothing. You ain\u2019t been there as Joe caught a bullet because he\u2019d defended yer<\/em> honour, you ain\u2019t seen him hurtin\u2019 because of he talk and the looks he got, you ain\u2019t seen Pa aging overnight when he thought yer dead, you ain\u2019t heard Juliet trying not to cry. And you ain\u2019t seen the blood when she lost that baby, ain\u2019t heard her blaming herself fer it \u2018cause she thought she\u2019d failed ya, ain\u2019t been sitting next ta her bed and watching her fade. You don\u2019t know nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Slaps, those words were slaps, each and every one. And they hurt even more than the punch to his face. Fingering his hurting jaw, he tried to give Hoss a small smile and winced as it pulled on his split lip. \u201cI guess I deserved that one,\u201d he said. \u201cHoss, I had no idea\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s over, Adam. Yer done yer fighting. Yer busted, and now you ain\u2019t fit fer fighting anymore.\u201d Hoss\u2019s voice had gone soft. Soft and patient and soothing. It sounded as if he was talking to a stubborn child who didn\u2019t realise he was only hurting himself. \u201cYou hafta go home and heal. Yer place ain\u2019t here\u2014yer place is home. Come home, Adam.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI…\u201d It sounded so easy. Go home, heal. But things weren\u2019t so easy, were they? \u201cThe country\u2026\u201d The country what?<\/em> Needed him? The country had just told him it didn\u2019t need him anymore, hadn\u2019t it?<\/p>\n

\u201cYer family is part of the country, too. Maybe it\u2019s time to fight fer them.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nodded. \u201cYah.\u201d It was<\/em> so easy.<\/p>\n

Hoss offered him a hand, pulled him to his feet. \u201c\u2019m sorry, fer the\u2026.\u201d he said, gesturing to Adam\u2019s jaw. Then he put his arm around Adam\u2019s shoulders and squeezed, just once and only softly as if afraid to hurt him again, and whispered, \u201cWelcome back, older brother.\u201d<\/p>\n

The door between the two rooms opened and revealed Juliet cloaked in her dressing gown. \u201cHenry is asleep now. Adam, are you don\u2014\u201d She broke off as her eyes fell on him. \u201cGood gracious, what happened here?\u201d<\/p>\n

They answered her in a chorus. \u201cNothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Crossing her arms and looking pointedly at Adam\u2019s chin, she raised an eyebrow. \u201cOh, yes, I see.\u201d<\/p>\n

And then she sighed and drew small circles on her temple with the tips of her fingers.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you all right?\u201d she eventually asked. It was addressed to Hoss, not to Adam, and that was almost like another slap.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, ma\u2019am, I am. We<\/em> are, now.\u201d Hoss gave her a smile. \u201cI gotta go now and see iffen I can find out where\u2019s the nearest train station.\u201d<\/p>\n

He walked out of the room, and Adam watched Juliet\u2019s eyes follow Hoss leaving and closing the door behind him. The clack of the door latch still echoed through the room when Juliet turned to him.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing. Nothing\u2026worth talking about, anyway.\u201d He rubbed his chin. \u201cHonest, Juliet. It\u2019s like Hoss said: we\u2019re all right now. I promise.\u201d I promise<\/em>, again. And he didn\u2019t break promises, did he? No, he did everything to keep them. Always.<\/p>\n

She studied him for a moment, then tugged at his sleeve. \u201cCome with me.\u201d She took his hand and pulled him with her. \u201cThe tub is big enough for two.\u201d<\/p>\n

It was, especially for two people as thin as they were. Adam had been shocked the first time he\u2019d seen Juliet naked, and a look at her face had told him she\u2019d been just as shocked to see him skinny as a rake. They both had to put some meat on their bones.<\/p>\n

As it was, they fitted perfectly in the tub. Adam leaned comfortably on the backrest, Juliet lay between his legs, her head resting on his shoulder. They\u2019d shared washcloth and soap, helped each other scrub their backs, and now they were relaxing, enjoying the peaceful quiet of the room, the warmth of the water, and the long-missed closeness.<\/p>\n

Juliet laid her hand on his bent knee, then let her fingers trail down the leg towards his hip. They stopped at the scar.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt looks so painful,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

He shook his head. \u201cIt isn\u2019t. Well, not much.\u201d<\/p>\n

He couldn\u2019t see it, but he sensed her raised eyebrow as she said, \u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt could be worse. It was worse. It\u2019s getting better every day.\u201d<\/p>\n

She laid her hand on it, cautiously, barely brushing the tender skin, as if she wanted to shield it\u2014protect it? Heal it? He covered her hand with his.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not a pretty sight, I\u2019m afraid.\u201d<\/p>\n

She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss on his thigh, just above their clasped hands. \u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cIt isn\u2019t. But who cares?\u201d<\/p>\n

He leaned forward, too, and kissed her neck, buried his face in the soft hollow between her shoulder blades. Yes, who cared? He had his scars, and she had hers. The small, nearly invisible silvery line on her side from the bullet that had nearly killed Joe\u2014and if not for his youngest brother perhaps Juliet. The fine web of faded scars on her wrists, a criss-cross of faint, thin lines, and the thicker, still reddish welt on her left palm, all evidence of how she\u2019d destroyed the standing mirror in their hotel room in San Francisco with bare hands, testimony of her desperation\u2014and her temper. It had been another incident about which she\u2019d felt the need to tell him in a fashion more reminiscent of a confession than an explanation.<\/p>\n

And then there were other scars. Scars in the shape of worry lines and sadness.<\/p>\n

He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her back with him, until he leaned on the backrest again, and she lay on his chest. He kept his hold on her, tightly, and as she turned her head to look at him questioningly, he held her even tighter.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re right, that scar\u2026I don\u2019t care if it\u2019s there or not. I can\u2019t do anything about it anyway. But\u2026\u201d He closed his eyes, just for a moment, praying he would find the right words, then looked back at her. \u201cThere are scars I can do something about.\u201d<\/p>\n

She frowned. \u201cWhat\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe scars of\u2026the baby.\u201d<\/p>\n

She closed her eyes, shook her head. \u201cNo, Adam. There are no scars from that<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere are. I can see them, in your face.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes flew open, wide, wide open. Brilliantly green, bright with shock and something else. Fear?<\/em> Unbearable pain. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry. I shouldn\u2019t have\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShh. There\u2019s nothing you should be sorry for. I<\/em> am sorry I wasn\u2019t there when it happened. I<\/em> am sorry you had to go through that without me.\u201d He cupped her face, traced his thumbs over her cheeks, over her lips, brushed her eyes with his fingertips. \u201cI want to erase those scars,\u201d he whispered. \u201cI will do everything I can to make them vanish.\u201d<\/p>\n

He wanted to kiss her, but she turned her face away. \u201cI don\u2019t deserve that. It was my fault the baby\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t your fault. It just happened.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut if I had stayed at home, if I had rested, if I had taken better care of myself\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026then it would have happened anyway. Juliet, if rest were needed for that, how could any farmer\u2019s wife ever carry a child to full term?\u201d<\/p>\n

There was a long moment of silence, and it took Adam everything not to break it. Finally, he felt Juliet nod.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s true\u2026\u201d She sounded surprised, as if that thought had never occurred to her. \u201cIt\u2019s true, but still\u2026Adam, I wanted that baby. I wanted it just as much as I wanted Henry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ll get that baby.\u201d He felt her stir, taking in a deep breath, but forestalled her words. \u201cI know, not that<\/em> baby. But another one. We will have many sons and daughters. It won\u2019t take away the pain of losing that<\/em> baby, but perhaps\u2026it will make it bearable.\u201d<\/p>\n

She pressed her face into his neck, in that old familiar way, and it was answer enough. Then he heard her mumble against his skin.<\/p>\n

\u201cPardon?\u201d<\/p>\n

She pulled back a bit. \u201cThe beard. Shave it off.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you have against the beard?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t like it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDoes it tickle?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt obscures too much of your face. I can\u2019t see\u2026I want to see those dimples once you start smiling again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI am<\/em> smiling.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou aren\u2019t. You\u2019re\u2026there\u2019s something on your heart.\u201d<\/p>\n

She\u2019d always been that way, had always seen right through him. Had always known how to read him. There was no point in trying to deny it.<\/p>\n

He tried it anyway. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

It was of no avail. Naturally.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, taradiddle! What is it?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was marvellous to have her back. It was even worth having that imperious tone of voice back, because it meant she was truly back. And stronger than she looked. Strong and smart and able to help him through the fog in his mind.<\/p>\n

He took a deep breath. \u201cIt\u2019s just\u2026I feel\u2026I haven\u2019t\u2026\u201d It wasn\u2019t easy to put into words. \u201cI\u2019ve achieved nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve achieved nothing? What makes you think so?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI enlisted to fight for my convictions. To help change this land. Make it a good place for everyone. To reinstate the union. But all I did was get hurt and captured, and then escape again. I did nothing that changed anything. I brought misery to my family, but what for? I didn\u2019t make a difference. And now I\u2019m crippled and not fit to fight anymore. And I\u2019ve achieved nothing. All this was for naught.\u201d There, that was the crux of things, the gist. The unvarnished truth.<\/p>\n

Juliet managed to turn around in the narrow tub, to face him properly. She raised an eyebrow. \u201cIs that so?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you blind, Adam? Or don\u2019t you want<\/em> to see it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSee what?\u201d<\/p>\n

She sighed. \u201cThe boy, for example. Fritz Butcher.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBoettcher<\/em>. What about him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBoettcher. He\u2019d be dead without you, Adam. Executed for desertion.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe told you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut that\u2019s not\u2026enough. I didn\u2019t enlist to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter why you enlisted, it matters what you did. You saved his life and his honour. Because of you, his family won\u2019t have to mourn two sons.\u201d<\/p>\n

He didn\u2019t point out that the war wasn\u2019t over yet, at least not for Fritz Boettcher, who could die the very next day. He knew that that wouldn\u2019t make her argument invalid.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the escaped slaves. Where would they be without you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat was a coincidence. I didn\u2019t plan to\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich doesn\u2019t undo it. Adam, you saved their lives. Theirs and Fritz\u2019s. And you might not have performed some military exploits, but you were a part of an army that won some important battles. Wars are not won by outstanding heroes, but by a group of men fighting together for their cause.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI never wanted to be a hero, I just wanted to\u2026do my duty. To make a difference.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou made a difference. Ask Fritz, he will tell you. You made a difference because you were there.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut only for a few weeks. It\u2019s not enough.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot enough? How many weeks more would make it enough? How many slaughtered Southern soldiers would make it enough, Adam? Ten more, a hundred more?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shuddered. \u201cNo\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt is<\/em> enough, Adam. You did your best, and your best is not killing people but saving them, protecting them.\u201d<\/p>\n

She was right; she was so darn right. He pulled her back to his chest. \u201cWhy do you always know to say the right things?\u201d<\/p>\n

She melted into him. \u201cBecause I love you.\u201d<\/p>\n

They didn\u2019t say it very often, never felt they needed to say it. Which made the words even more special now.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat a happy coincidence,\u201d Adam said, holding her even tighter, \u201cthat I happen to love you too, Mylady.\u201d<\/p>\n

She chuckled. \u201cIndeed, you do. I\u2019ve got evidence.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

She wriggled the small of her back against him. \u201cThere.\u201d<\/p>\n

There she was, his lady<\/em>. Unashamed, teasing, flirtatious.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, I didn\u2019t intend\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d be offended if you weren\u2019t\u2026responsive.\u201d And she leaned into him even more.<\/p>\n

But they didn\u2019t make love that night. They got out of the tub as the water cooled down, towelled each other dry, and went to bed, naked as they were, yet they didn\u2019t make love. They just lay and held each other, wept in each other\u2019s arms, laughed in each other\u2019s arms, and talked and recreated their bond. No, they didn\u2019t make love\u2014they loved<\/em>. And it was the deepest they\u2019d ever gotten into each other.<\/p>\n

__________
\nI may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended-up where I intended to be. ~ Douglas Adams<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

On a side note: Major General Schurz and Brigade General Schimmelpfennig are real people.<\/p>\n

The story of Schimmelpfennig hiding on private property during the Battle of Gettysburg is historically verified. He didn’t receive a very good press for it.<\/p>\n

Carl Schurz was a politican before and after the war. He is famous for his response to an often cited quote, which reads: “The Senator from Wisconsin cannot frighten me by exclaiming, \u201cMy country, right or wrong.\u201d In one sense I say so too. My country; and my country is the great American Republic. My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right.”<\/p>\n

\u00a0***<\/span><\/p>\n<\/div>\n

The words given were chalk, revolution, vulcanisation, dimension, and friction.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Epilogue<\/strong><\/h3>\n

Scars<\/h3>\n


\n\u201cOur president, Mr. Lincoln, has proclaimed a national Thanksgiving Day, to be celebrated on the final Thursday in November, starting this year.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cSo on this November 26th in the year of the Lord 1863, we\u2019ve come together to eat and drink, to be together, and to give thanks.<\/p>\n

\u201cGood Lord, I\u2019m giving thanks to thee. I\u2019m giving thanks for the return of my family, for having them back, safe and sound, whole and healthy. I\u2019m giving thanks for Adam surviving his ordeal, and Joe his and Juliet hers. I\u2019m giving thanks for my son Hoss and his strength that kept us all from falling apart; and I\u2019m giving thanks for my grandchild, who lights up our days.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m giving thanks for the chance my family has received: the chance of starting anew. I am aware that many families in this country won\u2019t get that chance. I am aware that the bloodshed of this war isn\u2019t over yet, and that it will take tolls from many families. I am also aware that my own family hasn\u2019t been spared completely\u2014but that we\u2019ve come out of it lightly. We\u2019re alive, and we\u2019re together and healing, and for that I\u2019m giving thanks.\u201d<\/p>\n

Juliet pondered the words spoken much earlier that evening, while she removed her emerald earrings and the matching necklace\u2014gifts from Adam on the occasion of Henry\u2019s birth\u2014and cautiously placed them into their ornate velvet cases, then started to pull out the small jade pearls that were woven into her elaborate hairdo.<\/p>\n

It had been an almost formal dinner; Paul Martin and Clementine Hawkins had been invited, and Hop Sing had outdone himself with serving course after course, each more delicious than the last.<\/p>\n

Thanksgiving, a national holiday announced in the middle of a war that provided very little to give thanks for\u2026and yet her father-in-law had found words of gratitude and faith\u2014even though he must have known that they were based, at least in part, more on wishful thinking than on actual facts.<\/p>\n

The last green bead stored away in a Chinese lacquer box, Juliet turned her attention to removing the dozens of pins that had kept her hair up. As its waves finally fell freely over her shoulders and back, she let out a deep, relieved sigh, and reached for her hairbrush to start the arduous task of working it through the tousled masses.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m giving thanks for the return of my family.\u201d<\/em> Juliet yanked at a particularly stubborn strand of snarled hair.<\/p>\n

Ben knew as well as anyone that not the whole family had returned. That Adam wasn\u2019t really at home. Though physically returned, he had yet to arrive completely.<\/p>\n

As she\u2019d predicted so many months ago, they had gotten Adam back\u2014but not gotten him<\/em> back. What they had was a shell resembling Adam, but not\u2026not the man Adam.<\/p>\n

There was a deep-rooted sadness in his eyes, even when he smiled or laughed. But smiles and laughter didn\u2019t come easy to him any more anyway. He was withdrawn, thoughtful, pensive, and often startled if someone addressed him suddenly, even in conversations he\u2019d seemed to follow. He did his share of work, as yet mostly limited to book keeping and such, but he was easily distracted and didn\u2019t seem able to concentrate properly. He was an attentive husband to her and a devoted father to Henry generally, but sometimes also impatient and irritated over insignificant matters. He was erratic<\/em>; and if there was one thing her Adam had never been it was erratic.<\/p>\n

The war had wounded Adam in more ways than one, and none of those wounds had healed completely yet.<\/p>\n

Ben knew that. Juliet had seen it in his face as he\u2019d studied Adam the day they\u2019d come home. When he\u2019d seen Adam labouring to get out of the stage coach, Ben\u2019s overjoyed smile had faded and given room to a concerned frown.<\/p>\n

It had been a long and exhausting journey, not made any easier by Henry\u2019s constant expressions of discontent with having to travel yet again\u2014and it showed, on all their faces. But Adam\u2019s features had been drawn and haggard anyway, so to Ben he must have looked terrible, emaciated and sick.<\/p>\n

Oh, Adam had<\/em> looked terrible\u2014but much better than he had when she first had seen him in Culpeper; and Juliet was eternally thankful that Ben had been spared that<\/em> sight.<\/p>\n

She wished Ben could have been spared the sight of Adam\u2019s empty smile, too. That curling of lips that held no mirth, no happiness, and that never reached his eyes.<\/p>\n

The brush now went through her hair smoothly. One, two, three strokes. Four, five, six\u2026a hundred brush strokes a day makes one\u2019s hair shine, Mrs. Beeton says in her book\u2026seven, eight, nine\u2026.<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201dI\u2019m giving thanks for the return of my family, for having them back, safe and sound, whole and healthy.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Healthy. \u2026sixteen, seventeen, eighteen\u2026<\/em> It was debatable if they all were healthy; they all clearly weren\u2019t whole. They all were bearing scars.<\/p>\n

Adam\u2019s, of course, were the most obvious. Even though the scar of his shot wound and the subsequent surgeries was well-hidden beneath his trousers, his painful limp and white-knuckled grip on the cane was visible for everyone. His scope of action was restricted to the confines of the house and the ranch yard: he couldn\u2019t sit a horse for more than a few minutes, and even riding a buckboard aggravated his leg more than the change of scenery made worthwhile.<\/p>\n

He wouldn\u2019t be Adam if he weren\u2019t trying to hide the constant pain he was in. But he didn\u2019t fool anyone\u2014most certainly not her\u2014neither by feigning \u201cgood health\u201d nor by trying to act as if there weren\u2019t other scars, too: scars on his heart and on his soul.<\/p>\n

Joe\u2019s scar from Billy-Bob Coulston\u2019s bullet seemed to hurt Adam more than it hurt Joe, who claimed he was \u201cright as rain.\u201d Juliet thought if anyone besides Mr. Coulston should feel guilty about that scar, then it was she; but that didn\u2019t keep Adam from feeling responsible for Joe having to protect her. Which in return made Joe feel guilty for having provoked the miner to begin with and thus making Adam feel guilty\u2014or whatever scenario had evolved in her brother-in-law\u2019s mind and kept him from really being right as rain.<\/em><\/p>\n

Hoss\u2019s scars came out only late at night. He\u2019d become nearly as good as Adam in hiding his real feelings, but he gave himself away when he instantly appeared at the door to their room whenever Adam roused the house with his nightmares. He obviously hurt from what he\u2019d seen during their quest, from what he knew had been done to his older brother\u2014and from the fact that he, too, couldn\u2019t provide any kind of solace for Adam.<\/p>\n

That same helplessness and the weeks and months of sorrow and anguish had left scars on Ben, too: his hair was now completely white, and the lines in his face deep and more pronounced than before.<\/p>\n

Her own scars didn\u2019t bother her much. Finally the silvery lines on her wrists were almost invisible, and the deepest, newest scar\u2026.<\/p>\n

Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred.<\/em> She laid the hair brush down and stared into the mirror. It was invisible, too, that new scar, at least to anyone but Adam and her. And both Adam and she had decided not to care about it, not to believe in what Paul had said: that she most probably would never be able to carry another child to full terms. Both Adam and she had decided they would simply ignore it, act as if there wasn\u2019t anything wrong and just keep trying. What else were they supposed to do?<\/p>\n

She parted her hair into three equal strands and began to plait it into a thick braid for the night.<\/p>\n

Keep trying. What else were they supposed to do\u2026<\/em> That accounted for almost everything, didn\u2019t it?<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m giving thanks for the chance my family has received: the chance of starting anew. We\u2019re alive, and we\u2019re together and healing, and for that I\u2019m giving thanks.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Ben was right: they had a new chance; they were alive, they were together, and they were healing. Slowly, not always satisfactorily, but healing.<\/p>\n

Mr. Hop had almost had a stroke when he\u2019d first seen Adam, and instantly made it his first priority to feed meat back onto Adam\u2019s bones. He provided Adam with his favourite dishes, all accompanied by thick slices of buttered bread and always followed by rich deserts, waited on him with cakes and biscuits, hot chocolate and sandwiches in between meals, and even placed bedtime candies on his nightstand.<\/p>\n

Whenever Adam found himself unable to stomach the loads of food Mr. Hop had intended for him, he was subjected to one of the house keeper\u2019s famous furies, and not always able to escape without at least a small dish of something placed within easy reach\u2014and Mr. Hop supervising him discreetly.<\/p>\n

Juliet had long ago ceased to raise an eyebrow at the cook\u2019s antics. She knew he meant well and that he was partial to \u201cnumber one son,\u201d whom he\u2019d dealt with since childhood\u2014and she was happy to notice his tactics almost always brought good results. Adam would need more time to completely regain his usual powerful frame, but he was well on his way to become once again the sturdy oak against which she was used to lean.<\/p>\n

And along with Adam, the rest of the family healed, too. Ben\u2019s prayer of gratitude from earlier that night spoke volumes; and Joe and Hoss\u2026it was a subtle change only, yet for her it was distinctive: she\u2019d heard Hoss saying \u201cOlder Brother here\u201d tonight, using the title he hadn\u2019t conceded to Adam ever since Culpeper. And Joe had called Adam \u201cmule head\u201d\u2014 his first attempt at teasing him since they\u2019d come home.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m giving thanks for the chance my family has received: the chance of starting anew.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

That they did: they started anew. Looking ahead rather than back. Ben and Joe had finally accepted that Adam wouldn\u2019t tell them anything beyond the plain facts, and she and Hoss knew better than to prod anyway. What they\u2019d read in the letter Adam had written in Gettysburg had told them enough and made more than enough to know why Adam didn\u2019t want to talk about it.<\/p>\n

The letter. Lupus est homo homini\u2014man is wolf to man.<\/em> Juliet was aware that letter was never intended to be sent. There was her name on it, but no address; and if Adam had really wanted to send it, he would have properly addressed it right away. And what Adam had recorded in the letter\u2026she was sure he never meant to burden her with it, or Hoss, or anyone. No, it was never meant to be read, just meant to be written down as some kind of release. And yet she was glad she had<\/em> read it. She had witnessed only the aftermath of the battle: the destruction, the devastation, the stench that still had polluted the air even when she\u2019d left Gettysburg, more than three months after the battle. It had fuelled her imaginative mind enough to picture how it must have been during the fights, and what little gaps in her imagination remained were filled with what Adam had written down.<\/p>\n

It had been incredibly tempting, but she\u2019d refrained from using any of it as she\u2019d written an article for the Territorial Enterprise<\/em> on the occasion of Mr. Lincoln\u2019s speech at the dedication of the Soldier\u2019s National Cemetery in Gettysburg, just a week ago. It was her first article since Henry had been born, and part of her own healing process: an account of her impressions of Gettysburg after the battle. Her<\/em> impressions, her own, personal story. And anyway, she would not abuse her accidental knowledge of something Adam obviously considered his private\u2026purgatory.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is not a tale of fairies, but a report of beastly things and ghastly truths. Beware, readers, beware: here be monsters,\u201d<\/em> she\u2019d written, fully knowing how strongly the poetic prose contrasted\u2014and highlighted\u2014the horror. Mr. Goodman, the editor, had lauded her on the \u201cbest goddamn piece of writing\u201d she\u2019d ever offered him, and instantly had indentured her to submit at least two columns a week. She had accepted his proposal gladly\u2014it would bring at least some normalcy back into her life and give back something that was entirely hers and that she\u2019d missed dearly.<\/p>\n

She wasn\u2019t sure the article was indeed her best writing, but it was good, and she was satisfied with it. It certainly was her most personal writing, and, in a way, an equivalent to Adam\u2019s letter-that-wasn\u2019t-a-letter. Except that she had never planned to keep it to herself, that she\u2019d written both to relieve herself and to make people understand the unimaginable and unbelievable.<\/p>\n

She was fumbling with a green silk ribbon to secure her braid when two arms engulfed her from behind and a hand was put over hers, stilling their actions.<\/p>\n

\u201cLeave it loose,\u201d Adam\u2019s husky voice whispered close to her ear. \u201cI want to see it flow over the bedding.\u201d<\/p>\n

She leaned back into his embrace, enjoyed the feeling of his tender hands combing out the plait and draping the hair over her shoulders.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere we are again,\u201d he said as his hands roamed on, opened her dressing gown and pulled it down her back. \u201cIn front of another mirror, but still a sight to behold.\u201d<\/p>\n

Despite the late November night, it was warm in the room. The dying embers in the fireplace still kept a vivid reminder of the blazing heat from earlier that evening. Yet Juliet felt goose bumps rising on her exposed skin.<\/p>\n

\u201cHenry?\u201d she asked, just to be sure.<\/p>\n

\u201cSound asleep, finally. I had to go through seven rounds of Simple Simon<\/em>, but in the end he gave in and closed his eyes. Succumbed to sheer ennui, most probably.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, he never gets bored. Not as long as someone pays him attention, and certainly not when it\u2019s you who\u2019s entertaining him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was unnerving when he didn\u2019t remember me in Culpeper.\u201d He buried his face in her hair, inhaled deeply.<\/p>\n

She reached back, weaved her fingers into his hair, and pulled at it, ever so slightly. \u201cHe knows you now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d He straightened, grabbed her hair with both hands and yanked at it, just once, before releasing it to flow down her back again. \u201cI\u2019m glad he does. And I\u2019m glad he and you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

His hands lay warm on her shoulders for a moment, travelled down her arms, her sides, came to rest upon her hips. \u201cI\u2019ve been thinking\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

She took his hands, laid them on her breasts. \u201cHmm?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPa\u2019s prayer tonight: giving thanks, starting anew…\u201d He bent down, kissed her neck. \u201cI think he\u2019s right. We have to start anew. Have to move on.\u201d Looking at her reflection, he nodded. \u201cI<\/em> have to move on.\u201d<\/p>\n

She closed her eyes, briefly, then looked into his in the mirror. \u201cMove on\u2026how?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe things I\u2019ve seen, the things I\u2019ve done, the things that were done to me\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAdam\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, just listen. Those things\u2026they were\u2026bad.\u201d<\/p>\n

She almost laughed about the triteness of that word. Bad.<\/em> But perhaps it was the only way Adam could think of it\u2014or he was sparing her yet again.<\/p>\n

\u201cThose things…I don\u2019t want to\u2026forget them, or act as if they never had happened, because they have<\/em> happened, and they are a part of me now. But I also don\u2019t want them to determine my future life or yours, or Henry\u2019s\u2014or anyone\u2019s. I don\u2019t want them to determine who I am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey don\u2019t have to determine who you are.\u201d She turned around and took his face in her hands, drawing it down to the level of hers. \u201cYou have been who you were<\/em> before they happened, and even if they change your perspective on things they don\u2019t have to change you<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, they don\u2019t, do they.\u201d He straightened, hoisting her up with him; turned them to face the mirror again. \u201cSee: that\u2019s the one thing that hasn\u2019t changed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe have<\/em> changed: we\u2019re a little frayed around the edges now, I\u2019m afraid.\u201d She smiled, a little embarrassed at the view: her dressing gown lay at her feet, and she\u2019d worn nothing underneath it.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut we\u2019re still together, and that still is the most beautiful thing I can imagine.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course, we\u2019re together. We will always be together.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIn good times and in bad\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cExactly. That\u2019s what I\u2019ve learnt from this, Adam: whatever happens, we won\u2019t fall apart. I thought\u2026I thought I\u2019d love you because I can trust you never to hurt me. And then you went and did hurt me\u2014and I found I still loved you. I just couldn\u2019t help it.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked into the mirror, saw herself and him, saw how he removed his gown and wrapped his arms around her. Felt his warm body against hers. He didn\u2019t speak, didn\u2019t answer…but\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cLook!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWh\u2026?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI can see your dimples. You\u2019re smiling.\u201d And it reached his eyes, the smile…it was everywhere on his face. And it was answer enough.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am.\u201d Now he grinned. \u201cI have every reason to smile.\u201d And he looked at her, not at her image in the mirror, but at her. Pointedly. At her face, down her body, back at her face.<\/p>\n

Juliet laughed. She laughed out loud, even though he tried to still her with a kiss, with two kisses, with three; she laughed. Laughed right through the kisses.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you quite well, Mylady?\u201d Adam asked, barely able to contain his own laughter.<\/p>\n

\u201cI am, oh my consort, I am, perfectly well.\u201d<\/p>\n

She stopped laughing as he cupped her face and looked into her eyes, breathed, \u201cForever,\u201d and kissed her again.<\/p>\n

As he pulled her with him, over to their bed, and then down onto it, keeping her as close as possible, so close that she wasn\u2019t sure anymore where she ended and he began, she whispered into his chest, \u201cWelcome home, Adam. Welcome back.\u201d<\/p>\n

And she gave thanks, silently, secretly, while they started anew, started living the rest of their lives. Together again.<\/p>\n

Forever.
\n__________
\nOut of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars. ~Kahlil Gibran<\/em><\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

The words given were: indentured, consort, fairies, furies, beastly.<\/p>\n

\u00a0*** fin ***<\/p>\n

\u00a0There are many people without whom this story would never have seen the light:<\/p>\n

Cheaux, who created a challenge I could not resist and that ended a long phase of creative barrenness, and who came up with the most obnoxious\u00a0<\/del> thought provoking prompt words. Prompts that forced me to create new characters and new subplots, and to dig deep and pry things out of my protagonists I\u2019d never have suspected them to have in stock.<\/p>\n

Debpet, who asked for the why and how, and generally more of a scene I\u2019d written more than two years ago. A scene that laid the foundation stone for the whole general plot.<\/p>\n

My big brother, who claims I picture Adam after his example, and who provided invaluable help in our discussions about plotlines, military, honour, bravery, and the species \u201cmen.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sibylle, who kept me on my toes when I wanted to pour to much misery upon my protagonists, and who is to be thanked for Bernadette\u2019s little hope of coming happiness with Dr. Mabbs\u2014and for the fact that Adam still has two legs.<\/p>\n

And first and foremost: my two terrific beta readers, Sklamb and Sandspur, without whose help this story would not be what it is, and who both showed incredible understanding and patience with my linguistic and personal flaws (of which I possess so many) and my sometimes challenging timing.<\/p>\n

Sklamb, thank you for being nit-picky, and for never stop nagging and putting up with my stubbornness and insistence until we find just the perfect expression.<\/p>\n

Sandspur, thank you for always putting your finger where it hurts most\u2014and is needed most\u2014and for telling me when I take a wrong turn.<\/p>\n

Ladies, both your suggestions and your encouragement are invaluable. You\u2019re the best teachers I could possibly have found. Thank you!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.<\/em><\/p>\n

Next Story in The Art-Universe Series:<\/strong><\/p>\n

Gettysburg<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

My Story Index<\/a><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

<\/g><\/svg><\/i> \"Loading\"<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Adam embarks on an adventure his family had not expected him to — although maybe they should have. And now they all have to watch helplessly as their once peaceful world shatters around them. Part of the series, but can definitely read as a stand-alone. <\/p>\n

74,600 words, rated T<\/p>\n

The Art-Universe series, links to all the stories within the series are included.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":20,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"template-full-width-post.php","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[7,39,23,1008,41,40],"tags":[14,15,17,16],"class_list":["post-2899","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-a-u","category-chaps-spurs","category-drama","category-family","category-hurtcomfort","category-challenges","tag-adam-cartwright","tag-ben","tag-hoss","tag-joe","wpcat-7-id","wpcat-39-id","wpcat-23-id","wpcat-1008-id","wpcat-41-id","wpcat-40-id"],"a3_pvc":{"activated":true,"total_views":7638,"today_views":0},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":2981,"url":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=2981","url_meta":{"origin":2899,"position":0},"title":"Brothers and Mud (by frasrgrl)","author":"frasrgrl","date":"April 24, 2013","format":false,"excerpt":"Summary:\u00a0 \u00a0This is my entry for April's 2013 Chaps & Spurs\/Pinecone Trifecta.A WHIB for Springtime. Have you ever wondered what happened between the brothers making a \"Joe sandwich\" and the mud fight? Well, here's my answer to it. 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Joe on the high seas.\u00a0 Word Count: 546\u00a0\u00a0Rated: K","rel":"","context":"In "Chaps and Spurs"","block_context":{"text":"Chaps and Spurs","link":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?cat=39"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/04\/ponderosa-lj.jpg?fit=640%2C475&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/04\/ponderosa-lj.jpg?fit=640%2C475&ssl=1&resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/wp-content\/uploads\/2014\/04\/ponderosa-lj.jpg?fit=640%2C475&ssl=1&resize=525%2C300 1.5x"},"classes":[]},{"id":47025,"url":"https:\/\/bonanzabrand.info\/library\/?p=47025","url_meta":{"origin":2899,"position":2},"title":"Kingdom of Ponderosa or Four Men in Tights (by EileenK)","author":"Preserving Their Legacy Author","date":"February 22, 2003","format":false,"excerpt":"Synopsis: A wacky Cartwright fairy tale. 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